Warsxzaw

Warsxzaw

There was always the
Wet blacktop.

There was always grey
Warsaw clouds
Threatening to drain
Onto the small world.

From heavy nebulas
In the heavensya
Where mist rolls
In webs
To aerosol ticks
Jumping.

Falling.
Falling

Through open sky,
Past trees and
Telephone poles,
The ticks land
On wet blacktop,
Crawling in cracks
Under car tires
Driving over roads.

Droplets of glass
Grey land, and
Run into gutters.

All taking place under warxaw clouds
On oily, wet black top

In sun, in rain,
In midnight,
In black ice day,
In fograys,

In awe,

In
Warzaw.

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