Phillips Street

Shouting windows beckon at each step
Withered winterized trees
Perched neatly on it's side
Dark, dank, rat-filled pavement
Quietly screeches as black
Is seen approaching
Noise inhabitants keep pace with the sun
Rising like vampires
Never to see the light
But of crashing waves of invisible resonance
And bottoms of shiny-smeared glasses
Lining its shoulders
Perished like the trees
Watching a banished woman
Ceased by the days
Of overriped times
Sift through the emotions
Each cruet had
Every Thursday
Bright blue buckets keep pace with
Oil lit streets
Forgotten walkways
Blanked out structures
Today is non sense
Yesterday blown over
They left behind soul
Carrying sentiments away

The End

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