Poetry
by Phil Brown
TRAFFIC
Traffic is pulsing
into town.
What else is there?
Sugar gliders
don't live here.
Nor do desert skinks.
Traffic is pulsing into town
in the absence of grass.
We are grazing
on wine and meat.
Someone is naked.
I noticed.
Seek me,
seek me,
seek me
and find ... an empty car.
I am in gear
way up above
as traffic
is pulsing
into town.
by Phil Brown
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