by davidchrzanowski

A soap opera ends
in a neon blue
haze of pixels

notches on Roman candles
count burnt fingers
from times the sun failed

write me the writ
I’ll pound the pavement
for ground up meat

rival banners mock
rocking the boat
up the Plymouth Sound

duck’s legs lost
silhouettes of paint brushes
and clenched fists

success suspended
small details correct
tomorrow is for all