Shadows run charcoal, flat like

iron painted across walls as it

spills silently onto a fallowed field

suffering from a lack of love.


A blood sun spreads rivers over

streets and sides of tired brick buildings.


An emotional wind creates sounds

resembling words whispered through fences

and back porch screens.


Open windows are blinded to the figures

passing below; the alley holds dark

plans for the exchange of dreams.


A horn rattles the air.  Factory doors release

sweaty shirts.

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