West Side Hole up

I’ve come to rely,/on the strength of a rebel stand,/against whirring clocks and mirrors/in tears and blood ,from motors./This makes us partners,/even of different hue and stripe,/we inhabit the same old lairs. //The hinges on our eyelids keep record,/blessed by liniment,/ feel the thorns dig in our hips./Our virtue is in fashion,/by dying candlelight,-Extract those sad kids from the floor,/overblown in taste,/sage,but lifeless./Yet and still, / a remarkable era/ we live in, forlorn, /our eye’s passion/spare change from mourning

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