Friday, December 13, 2019

The upward slope
deranged with mist
swerving around fire pits
pockets hurled by the sun
that ripple like pine feathers
my craft is sinking in gloss
all perpetual infinity of fenders
the tan paint of brick corners
pools of oily water glinting like tin
long walks with brethren
the sliding roofs
of slippery neighborhoods

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