Ashes fall like the snow.
The sun comes out of the parting clouds
like at the end of a tunnel on a
motorway that scars the scenery.
I am the sun.
The morning flutters by
Like butterflies swirling
In mismatched winds.
It stayed unseen around the city,
Growing feverishley on the murky walls.
Dandelions in a light summer breezeRead more "Dandelions"
The bleep of a phone;
the scream of the screen,
a cry for attention.