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wasteland around graceland

we traipse through memphis in a sad dry dusk,

along the never-ending heartbroken boulevard,

busted concrete cooling in the vast vacant lots,

decades of trampled neglect and born again defeat,

once thriving concerns derelict and barb-wired off,

exposed like the underside of an upturned rock.

the stench of the hot punishment of the day,

fades to a less aggressive version of itself,

as if someone remote-controlled it down

in time with the dwindling brilliance,

and you feel the earth decide enough’s enough

and gently ease the pressure off.