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The cracks

In the City’s streets

Aren’t 

Cracks

At all,

But crevasses

Voids 

Where the hopes

Of those 

Who came before us

Fall to rest

Like loose change

From carelessly 

Unzipped pockets

Actor 

Singer

Poet 

Dancer,

All dreams

Deceased

But

We notice

Their muted glint

From the corner of

Our cloyed eyes,

Pick them up

Dust them off

And pocket them

As our own

Unknowingly,

We harbor 

Dreams

Deceased–

But more than that,

We carry 

Dreams

Revived.

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