Wednesday, February 01, 2017

The clear path painted with blood,
twilight hardening air,
bridges swinging from quick clouds
a torn world in the evening.

Glass shields irritant menus
where sheaths flower
against a wound.
Parks and bars thud
with radiant, smeared voices.
Dusk on salted figures
shot out the streetlights.

Oily hands move over the horizon
and stir the broken glass
with cut skin.  Bankrupt cities
coupled with smokescreen time.

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