South Of Canal St.

Whistling winds fill broken brick alleys
Newspapers drift with crumpled fingerprints
Damp cotton smothers an illuminated rolling moon
Echoing tunnels rumble with metal worms on silted tracks
Street lamps walk across coiled ropes, attracting a crowd
Turning heads clockwise like orange caps on a medicine bottle

One Comment Add yours

  1. redgladiola says:

    Not a pretty day for the city, especially with imagery like worms and medicine caps. Effective poetry!

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