Lit Lots

Lit Lots

On my tricycle
Scooting down the highway
I chanced upon a man
Who would call me a friend

In your sprawling home
I would try to find you
Pushed on by my friend
And his minstrel songs

You were out into the night
A place to not deny
I pushed along on my trike
Into the grand plazas

The trike’s shine piercing
Into the lit lot abyss
Like a banshee’s call
Heralding day’s death

Sounds echoed as I searched
Eons jovially triking along
I never found what I sought
But was always promised just that

In the plazas of pedestrianism
And gratuitous aestheticism
Hallways, chandeliers and staircases
Protruded from every sidewalk

I wandered with the walkers
My friend in trike’s tow
Dancing in its basket
Rolling through the lit lot homes

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