Magic – beggars

#12 Magic – beggars

Streets of beggars, not by birth
but by choice, dream of eucalyptus
and butterflies in divine moonlight.
Mirrors they refuse as they have lost
their faces, somewhere in the
early pedagogy to a point of no return,
where even chance is better than
troubling the poor brain. The only magic
remains in silver, in currency. The engine
chokes and in the smoke of greed,
notes fly in the direction of those streets.