I seek out orphaned spaghetti streets.
Shadowed three card Monte dealers
entice me with lightning hands.
Peepholes in withered doors,
glimpses of mottled flesh.
I witness unspeakable acts.
Ponder my inaction
In these towns of obfuscation,
these secret streets
tracing a destination of debasement,
where the buses run every hour
on the hour.
I know I can leave at will.
Why don't I?
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