NONSOD: Ginsburg Streets

They were crimes against their mothers
Sad burnt minds, clambering up the crying streets
and jarking in the nasty nights like so many forgotten dogs.
And they were lost. Lost. Lost.
So they made their music out of trashcans and disorganized thoughts
And made babies out of haste.
And they made their livings out of hate
And more hate. Out of hate that fueled itself like some
Giant abominable seed – hate feeding bloating hate until it blossomed
malignant and frightfully beautiful in the night
And the fat people all sat by and watched
And clapped their fat hands over their ears in the booming
And clucked their teeth and shook their heads
And made nicenice in their cozy houses where they didn’t have to care.