Escribe Tomás Redd
If the cold wind howled more loudly
in the desert passages inhabited by fluorescence
Perhaps some other odd idea
inhabits the furry unreserved comments that lie across the freeway
I dare not stroll, lost as desired
because the creaking sounds of the river below cover my tracks
Glancing at the desolate city
I peer down into exposed concrete standing on carpeted trails
“Warmth begs for company”
reads a for-sale sign
This is the home of bitter brilliance and speckles of marvel
tucked away