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A Woman’s Dirty Hair
An old car
Moves slowly
Through cold rain;
A modern city
Grows ancient
In the sad fog
Of urban despair.
A woman’s dirty hair
Is pulled
By an oily hand
In a rat-infested
Motel room.
God ignores suffering
But also kindly turns his head
To the indiscriminate sex
That helps the hopeless
Alleviate poverty-born
Unrelenting stress.
poem
by
Uriah Hamilton
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