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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