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By Jack Joseph Smith
Streetcorner
I didn't ask for anybody to cross my way,
or to cross me
Settled at my desk now to make myself deliver
I am the conscience with drawn
Street gossip,. and sin in the underground
of homes,,
pass me by,, and hide away, from me, there,
Angry and narrow eyed,, the assult of my type
makes life appear only to me
I carry crosses and curses round robin
Dawn to dusk I cherish class, but nothing
of what would of been
That is dislike and watching to close,
The departed and the departure
And my aloneness
In a whisper
That will not wilt, this starlive,
this concrete TREE