The sky is television gray today.
City streets are slick and shiny;
buildings drenched with soot coughed from clouds.
No rainbows break the drudge today; instead
I found one fetal,
dying
splashed in black puddles inside
this parking garage.
The sky is television gray today; halogen
light throws skylines into harsh black and white
relief.
Another rerun.
After a Storm
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