How impressionable
The slipping reflection of lamplights
Flipping like a film in eyes of morning
Fire hydrants of red, wet with golden ideals
An image of disregard—the street corners
Places you haven’t been, untouched shadows
The time considers advancement, but there is no place for it on your wrist
A drifting breath from the stranger’s gaze
The sociopath gripping at your hands is blindly delighted
To find a dime in the palm for a penance sought through paper
A founded love for the meaning depicted by the pen
A city asleep, unseen graffiti is spread against our eyelids
Do the bats fly westward? It would be fitting
The man carries a cane, the support of a toothpick,
Strolling abandoned walkways; respect sought after
A dead end with an unknown consequence
Curiosity inspired,
The bats support his dignity as it splinters with the cane
A better life out west, carry on my surname.
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