echos spin through
the dialect of the street
peoples feet shimmer and
evoke the stones of cold motion
the rapids of incense
churn through
treacle trusses
of a stoners song
clouds are sewn into the sky
a slow rope of saliva falls
from a pitbull
his jaw opens and closes
two hands of lovers clasp
and dance away into
suburban sunlight
absorbed in supple scents
and a growing gravitas
PhilosopherPoet
