Traffic(Poem)

Wheels
Dutifully
crossing the white lines.

///

Motorcyclists
joined the parade
like a slow lava
or a careless British ball.

///

Passengers
tread the tar roads
Lights
lit the last breaks
Playlists
play the preconditioned loops.

///

Motors howling
Helmets prickling
Gases trekking
and the accidents
spilling the blood.

/


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