hobos got no history
that's how the thinking goes
blow-ins chancers
light fantasticks
windscreen splashers
glances
in the night time rota
rust used to form
on the snaps
inside the crutches
of those black lace
bodysuits all gussied up
and smooth
don't sweat don't grow
the ping the rust
illusion made for
posing for the camera see
we
hobos had to come from somewhere
set inside
the jelly of the times
was nobody
prepared
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