money street

they are washing the blood off of money street
in the heat of history
and the corruption of time
where parables of virtue
fall on deaf ears
and the holy sinners
weave cloth from guilt
whilst blessing the dreadful of
the anguish and frail as
they coat the sacrement
in poison and oil and chase away the dull ache
with vinegar and cigarette smoke
that falls like feathers all grey and white
onto soil that is as black and as ugly as crime
and shuts out the truth with railway sounds
that stutter and splutter and then stop.

just stop.