I’VE SEEN YOU
On the street
haunted eyes and your drug-shuffle feet
gaze set down in case you meet
someone you know
you know them all
and they’ve seen you
in the papers
and the evening news
and they know
the things you do
and they know
what you use
but you’re walking there in full plain sight
when you should be locked up fast inside
a cell, a tomb, away from folk,
marked as abberant
no return no hope
no resurrect
this Easter, or the next
Mark Johnson
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