There's a bustle above my neck
See-Line Woman with a stomp-Clap beat
improvised by clacking my teeth
and all you hear from your windows
are my shoes on the black asphalt.
The day's left-over aches and sounds
a symphony of struggling summary
drowns out twig snaps and howls
and all you hear from your windows
are my shoes on the black asphalt.
Roy Perez wrote this. All rights reserved. Copyright 2000-present. before
| after
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Reading these diaries will enrich you intellectually. Just
ask the U.S. Surgeon
General.
