Rising jets of melted tar, rise through the air
Multi-ton metallic walker stops, carrying an air conditioner nightmare
Glance to the overlord, plastic fare, a swipe in the air
Outcast, roofless, a mist of social insolubility,
Logic in a sense that ceases to coexist
An absent reader of economic doom and social gossip
Paper mash and public speeches of barely intelligible words
A black tattoo dressed in white, slim-fitting a plastic seat
A mellisonant smile from the girl in blue
The femme fatale dreams with helixes spiraling in a sculpted body
The mp3 halo and a coy smile
The tattoo district is the last stop
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment