Holden Masters Poems

Feral women and rabid men reel through drunken streets,
Faces pressed up against the windows of gold dust taxis, they signal with one or two fingers at the poeple hopefully waving their arms.
Abuse fills the doorways and entry's, steam rises were shadowy figures stand.
On down the road tomorrow's trash of burger wrappers and bottles rain down on pigs in uniform as they beat the hell out of another soul so they can collect the queens head.
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