Wallflower Season This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

Pacing the corner of Third
and Cain Street in my
shoddy blue Converse (you
know the ones with Shakespeare
scribbled down the sides and
holes at the toes)


Unlit cigarette dangling from my
lips like an unfinished sentence


Spray paint splayed on porous
concrete, oscillates beneath
restless feet as i dodge the
cracks that were carved out by
spray can nozzles


A radio seeps through the cheap
plaster of a nearby flat and
echoes inside of the dents of car
fenders, ricochets from the
surrounding fire escape stairs
until snuffed out by the
impatient stars


Those amber preserved fireflies and
ethereal traffic lights, blinking
alluringly to the atoms of sound
drawing them upwards, only to
swallow up the network of tones


Waiting for the time when they will
implode and rain down as liquid
droplets of ash and soot


Suspended, no-strings-attached, in the
air, close enough to lightly kiss our
cheeks with the scent of what
could have been


Until then i will line up with
the grooves of the brick wall
behind me and sink into the
cracks as i watch them all
fumble their words and lose them
to the sky


Diluted missives dripping down from
newspapers held over the heads of
trendy businessmen in the rain


I guess some things are just
better left unsaid





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