Daisy Salesman

I.
This city is a study
in the cold steel of architecture,
functionality with little else
the wind whispers a funeral dirge
the flower vender is no longer here
perhaps out of business
perhaps something worse
II.
staring at the weeds growing from the concrete below,
I am fascinated by the thought of falling
thirty stories of an infinite flight,
this is existence set on fire
now sprawled on the sidewalk
the crimson shock a love-gift
to awaken the colorless gray
now, shall we know true living?
in the broken bones,
the screaming nerves,
in these moments just before the end?


this is the second half of something I wrote… not sure if I like the first part yet, so I just didn’t post it

*oO-Rein-Oo on deviantart.com

Cro-Du

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