Lit Up
Published in

Lit Up

Graffiti

Part 9 of the Moon Series

The idiots are out again
They’ve painted all the windows
It must be the end of the week,
approaching winter,
spray can goons
are on the loose,
scrawling their insipid goop.

Standing on my roof,
a dry, clear night,
harvest moon
lying low, making time
ride or die, fly or cry,
dusty tumbleweed,
tumbling crime.

Crowds comfort me
solitary, untouched
in a heaving mass, apart,
sodden blanket noise,
earphones play an air,
pipes, fiddle, bouzouki strain,
lamenting something lost or gone.

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Welcome to Lit Up -The Land of Little Tales. Here you can read and submit short stories, flash fiction, poetry - in brief, your own legend. We're starting little. But that's how all big stories begin.

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