Blue stoic ghosts
patrol the concrete
like the crows in
the wet, green yard.
A stagnant, gasoline-
infected puddle of silcence,
discontent, shuffling
pockets.
The ghosts pass,
leaving only robotic
whispers and cramped
inertia.
Blue stoic ghosts
patrol the concrete
like the crows in
the wet, green yard.
A stagnant, gasoline-
infected puddle of silcence,
discontent, shuffling
pockets.
The ghosts pass,
leaving only robotic
whispers and cramped
inertia.
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