Puddles Reflecting Death
Passages trail the utter existence
along brick faced wanderings
with puddles reflecting death
in the vast wasteland that calls
from bled out dreams
I listen to the footsteps,
eager to please, left by the curb
beneath graffiti warnings
in spray painted quotes
dripping with ease and intent
Their cadence sends
splashing ripples onto
nicely pressed slacks,
collecting glares from bus stop loafers
with exact change and nowhere to go
As I find my existence
fading in the far back seat,
staring out of a smeared rear window,
exhaust fumes wave good bye
to the nothing I have become
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016
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