Wednesday, December 03, 2014

As it howls

The sun now peaks below the horizon,
turning the sky a bright orange, that
reciprocates consummately with the fires below,
    As the crowds, in turn, engulf each residency in partitioned groups,

To the right, lay a convenience store, adorned by broken glass,
that crackles under the pressure of the chevied mob.

While each individual carries an assemblage of
anonymous junk like squirrels gathering
nuts for the winter.

The streets, themselves, are not only covered
by the gathering horde, but by overturned
cars, and the flickering lights
of street lamps that lay
upon the pavement as if in a state
of respite.

Off in the distance one can hear the wailing
sounds of sirens that seem to wave
in and out like the crashing tides upon
an emptying beach.

An as they make their way ever closer, the crowds seem
to disperse, leaving only a remaining few
to brave such consequential actions of such
a disheveled crowd.

While the sun, now buried beneath the horizon,
leaves behind the fractured lights of sirens,
an the incandescent blaze that now peppers
this befouled city.

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