My turn to wax poetic.
Doors bark like noisy cars.
Dark, misty cars that quietly drive a small, small girl past downtown.
All drivers steer faceless dead lights.
The busy midget quietly fingerbangs the slums.
Running calmly like a rainy river.
Trucks eat up crusty Poppin' Fresh dough boys.
All jobs climb up inside dead, dry skyscrapers.
The street talks like a taxi driver.
"You talkin' to meeeeeeeeeeee, motherfucker?"
Noise is a union worker in a right-to-work state.
The hood moonwalks on a faceless corner.
While the sidewalk coughs like a old jackhammer.
Burma-Shave.
~ A. Nony Mouse
For Obscurity's sake
