Out On The Fringe
There's such noise now, calling from the streets, into your homes, where it has no place. You never won an inch of star, but they still rained from the sky, and fell into your fire like a spike through leather. I knew the noise would get to you sooner or later. It does to everyone who has an ear to the streets. This city eats its young. It ate me. It will eat you too. You call me part of the noise outside the noise. I fringe it, where I belong. A throne made of dust, city trash static, and relevance. I earned this. Fought tooth and nail against city mouths that gape like fish out of water, trying to pool together. Envious of the fringe. Hate the fringe. You don't belong here. Thankfully I don't, or you, or anything of passion and deepness. Eyelash sweep the dust away. You see as clearly now as I do. Never loose sight.