‘101 overpass at Western'

Walking the sidewalk with a head full of flames 
Avoiding the ivy off branches untamed 
Little pink rose covered in glass 
Sound of my mornings 
Broken pink glass
What I have owned no longer is only 
Mine to have owned 
When my mind is most lonely
The moment I speak up sends the minute hand racing 
for the liquified words pour from a faucet corroding
Down a street slightly slanted where my thoughts tend to hide 
Is a stairwell parallel to the highway’s divide
Down the steps of cement and night’s splintered moonshine 
A trail of tail lights twinkle as traffic glides by
Through the weathered chain barrier about shoulder length high 
Watch the pattern repeating and wonder myself why