The books and bricks of once-treasures
seal the window view
glowing themselves like a coming fire
trying to look inviting, desperate little consolations.
I hear a dog's dreaming breath
I hear the fine tearing that could only mean wet pavement
I hear a huff and sigh - a city still trying to please
I hear the hairline clicks of shifting joints newly aged
Until even the four p.m. gloom
is blinding.
Nov 28, 2010
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