Aversed to Urban Echoes

This Tizer sound rounds back to me

One full ’bout turn, this empty can,

A scoom to rim-ride riffy tarmac

Up camber berm, so rad to see

A seamless turn – exhaust… fell off.

All wind gone: still.

That litter’s bent, its gargled gone;

I sip again: that sharp cold twist;

Metal trouncing sunny road;

An arc eternal as internal

Rushes surge past mind and bone.


© Pat Mellow 2018

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