The dusk burned evenly to a warm brown toast street by street lamps gave hints of here and there grew carbon copies that slid instinctively along pavements only the etched, shady ladies stood back to scoop strangers unfamiliar with the sex of theft The stray dogs sauntered; always a stone's throw from scraps street dwellers taking coin and curses in equal measure grew to love midnight instrumentals fired by alcohol only one string of a busking line left in their morning cups strangers make the strangest friends 'The end is nigh' billboard man slept in his walkabout warning street comedians who'd tailed off his message with a titillating t grew sombre as the message dawned on their desecration only a God can scatter the wind and weep up a tempest to see strangers growing on stony soil and every street
Taking inspiration from Eric Baus’s ‘Burning Zither’ and the community of fellow poets in the Poetry Pantry
PoetryPix 