The Places Here Have Lives

Sideways glances at buildings
leering giant-like
waiting to sense
fear or apathy or whatever.

Orange clay tiles sway in the wind
like the tops of old palms
their cracked trunks
meassuring sticks of times gone by
and the last thing we know
as we pass from one world baked in sun
to the next.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s