On 34th,
a car has gone
in flames and ruins.
My eyes watch,
scorched by the sun.
Gray matter sits
on top of a lifeless cement.
They shower it with the flowing blue,
But i’m unsure,
Are they burying its grave?
Or wrapping it from the womb?
They say it is our life line,
yet we shower it on so many things
Already dead.
1
2
3
They hold their point of view
right in front of the beholder
It seems
we are unmoved by the tragedy,
and for some,
it goes completely unnoticed at all.
I don’t know what to do but stare
at the car that has gone,
Showered by something to end and begin its unsung song.
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