she's black and white
but the world is screaming colors
she walks in shadows
and talks in whispers
while the hues blur through her
this day
a splash of watercolor brush on her office armor
leaving a mark on pure dark silver
"sorry," it says
and brush past
the sun shines different
radiating through the stain
even just a little bit
and she can't help but wonder
why no pauses have found her
in that world of quick realplayer triangles
YOU ARE READING
things that come and go: poetry of a city
Poetry- ̗̀ in this city you are always halfway home ̖́-
