we are all robots
mama's quilt reminded her of
r o l l i n g
hills
and golden stalks,
grazing stallions
and
the handsome farmhand
with the tattered shirt.
it was the map to a world lost
inside of rising skyscrapers,
faceless passersby
with ironed shirts,
and mechanical similitude.
YOU ARE READING
summer
Poetry❝do you think that we'll ever become stars?❞ © crewneck 2014 sept. 24, 2014 - poetry #84 / romance #573
