in the waning light
The streetlight flickers,
its circle thinning and swelling
like a tired breath.
A man drags a cart of bottles—
they strike and scatter
against each other,
a bright clatter
that almost arranges itself,
as if you could lean in
and hear the fragments
choose their own song.
Poetry by anonface
Read 148 times
Written on 2025-10-22 at 06:55
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Lawrence Beck |
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Griffonner |
