A Winter Kitchen by Derrek Faraday

I'm very tired, running awayTo a New York street in the fray,But fret as it’s cold.Who could bear to sleep alone in households?Pay my debts off, I'm getting by.Money talks, and I'm telling lies.But that is nature, we'll never stop for yellow lights.It's not a sign, we are finding our blight.Week for the drugstore, I see a face,All too familiarly replaced.That's how I know this street.For its gross, amazing change and its beats.Never settled, never asked why.Transit speeds too fast to remember the sky.I have money I abuse, I've never seen it before.Love's labor chore,Hell freezes nowhere,Money is everywhere.Homes don't move at the speed of life,And that's a sign. Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash