The way soft streets
break, tarmac murmurs,
and crooked brick paths
carry promises, the clouds
grow heavy, sagging
with their jade burden.
A white piano catches,
hums with flames, burning
gazelle stupidity the way
cities burn smooth kids.
Tepid rain turns, spits,
purring smoke,
admits nothing not proven
by kiosks while neighbors
sleep, cats charm
doorways, and sighs wander,
carrying blossoms to heaven,
even as Hades stirs.
(c) 2014, by Hannah Six
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