Lonesome Cities

From high-rise windows my fingers trace
The effortless flow of traffic
Cars that simultaneously carry dreams
And the mundane while the sun rises
Over plastic rooftops in suburbs throughout
The United States weaving black tar roads
Together for miles upon miles like
The soft knit fabric of the universe
Where we yawn and smoke and eat
And drink on formica tables where our
Elbows rest below our wrists below our
Chins and we embrace the call of
That golden, Western open-road trance

Author: Erica V.

Always seriously joking and rambunctiously soft-spoken.

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