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Disguised with painted faces
I watch them roam the streets;
immune to social graces,
they dance to savage beats.
Festooned with vivid colors,
beneath the neon glare,
drawing the gawks of others,
revealing all they dare -
a sea of flesh they’re showing,
to advertise their wares.
Young eyes appear all knowing,
pretending not to care.
Their Big Top is the city,
with center ring the square.
The bigots sigh “ A pity!”
and yet they pause to stare.
The night is long and dreary,
exhausted on their feet,
fruitless to look weary -
livelier looks compete.
Insults and catcalls normal,
expected in this biz;
some rules, but rarely formal -
the pimps enforce what is.
Drugs and booze to drown the pain,
cuts/bruises, they’ll endure,
watching life go down the drain -
trying to look demure.
With each new car approaching
(potential revenue),
cruel death might be encroaching
the Desperate Avenue.
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