who lives in the cracks of cobblestone

who loves and laughs and grieves

in this damp, dark grout

what do their voices sound like when they beg

and plea for mercy from the army of boots

which trample and trod upon them

it's ridiculous, of course, to truly think

that there are mothers and brothers and lovers

driving on tiny highways 

beneath the sole of my shoe

but when was the last time you stopped

and looked up

to see if there were boots in the sky?

so why should they?

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