Sueded shoes
Under the fine pressed linen
Tablecloths
Deals are made
Humanity is lost
What is to be gained
From these grained shoes
From a man neither conscious
Or with a clue
Sueded shoes
Under the fine pressed linen
Tablecloths
Deals are made
Humanity is lost
What is to be gained
From these grained shoes
From a man neither conscious
Or with a clue
Baby blue crimson
Skies
Threaded clouds
Way up high
Whisper a tame
Wind
For the day ends
But
Begins again
Sliding down the street
Of a thick spring morning
Of a New Orleans local
Cart
From the nature
To the roads
That construct the city
At large
Take me away path
Metric anomaly
To the land and sea
Betwixt the two unravel
Before me
Eternity edges
On scaffolding ledges
Of high rises
Lifted and forgotten
Rolled up sleeves
And highly uncommon
Shadow roll
Over the edges
Of crisp white walls
Windows ajar
With the sound of rumbling
Cars
Burning eyes
Full of
First time skies
Through the cadence
Of cars passing by
Lame lights burn
Incandescent glow
On the face of a man
In a restraint
Alone
Around him the burning glow
Of a personal computers
Impersonal glare
With not one care
Sun crisped palms
On a balmy winter
Day
In east LA
Dirt mounted walkways
Easy pathways
Going sideways
Today
Grey scale days
Faded into a misty
Afternoon
Full of reserved blue
As the days files through