december 11, 2017
H I G H W A Y S
faded storefront signs,
washed out by the blinding light of the sun,
stand next to the crumbling construction
that's halted long ago,
the exposed concrete and stone
with numbers sprayed upon them
by the paint stripped off of the
traffic cones fixed in place.
☆
waiting on the bus.
YOU ARE READING
LIMN
Poetryrepainting my world with the words silently formed by my rose-dipped lips. • 972 in poetry
