Tones of red and shades of yellow cascade down a parasol.
Fixed letters and dilapidated signs hang above archways, giving way to decay.
This way holds more questions.
The answers you seek are beneath the sewers.
Cold fog rolling atop the asphalt.
A hidden world only touched by those with sight.
A gift much like a double-edged sword.
Useful for cutting what's in the way.
Dangerous if you try and stay the blade; it only knows its purpose.
YOU ARE READING
Dumping Grounds
PuisiSometimes when you are dumping your mind, poetry arises. In this anthology, travel with me to dreamy places or the dark corners of my mind, perhaps invoking the writer in you. I hope these pieces speak to you in some way as they have to me. Dumping...
