Can’t be beat

It's dull dystopian
clapped out rhythms for marching feet
our chattering teeth protest 
unabridged, undammed
some drip-dry dribblings of the explicit
that careless drunk behind a post
a dumb flea-bit dog lifting its leg 
defining free speech

It belongs to the city
grime and crime
ennui and the fog of faith
the disabled unburdening
a poet's unbearable reality
all bare truths, cold confusion
as to how casual sex can be
- only ugly shocks the new
after the war took street fights
to a bloody free for all

It's the taste of flat champagne
mediation in monotone
some mindblown moulds, roulette
and jazz for jagged nerves
imagine escapism in reverse
down, down with the gutter press
up and away topping the high rise
the astral plane's burning up tarmac
but first let's call time
time to beat the streets

For her Poetics prompt, Sanaa challenges us to write in the style of Allen Ginsberg and the Beat Generation