Morphing Verse

I try to write poems.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

sensations
burn and then
like a half-
smoked cigarette
that drops
on pavement

glow in memory
of the flare
but fades
as nobody
really wants
it to catch

so it dies
or some passerby
steps it out

and the city
is built this way

so that no flash
fire combusts
dead bark
and no greener
things grow.
Posted by Peripheral at 6:55 PM
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