Dead lines press.
Yellows and reds shed
warp and weft
bobbins of color
spooling on wet pavement.
Gridlock striations
entwining the city
shuttle interlaced threads of humanity
back and across
the looming horizon.
Saddled up passengers
heddle brake lights,
and thrum yarns of time,
weaving slowly, working
their patterns home.
Wonderful voice. Wish I'd written...
"Yellows and reds shed
warp and weft
bobbins of color
spooling on wet pavement."
Very nice piece.
Thank you, Sam. A very lovely comment. It has been a while since I've exercised this voice so it is very nice to read such a welcoming reception.
My lord. You are so gifted.
:) Thank you, my friend.