Solo (Con Las Nubes)
In the plaza alone am I,
Along with the mud puddle
From yesterday's rains and the
Cold gray concrete made colder
By the steel blue sky. The pines
Over there bend under the wind
Like old gray men reaching for the
Remote. A bus drives through like
A yellow-gold-black streak of lightning,
Delivering their parasites and boldly
Stepping through the mud puddle. The
Crows eat wild onions for breakfast
And wait for their nests to burn and their
Lives to end like me.
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