There’s power in the myth,
a giant within, having authority
to transport the story in hypnotic
waves, beckoning us into another
world with casual paths or
orthodox oppression.
It’s a partial creative thought, the
ones pedestrians feel when a summer
sun heats both sides of the street, fostering
orphaned words with blunt force, igniting
the forsaken within.
When considered, it’s all reimagined
from an experimental source.
Roger Singer 