At first, I think
A grid, man-made
Machine-like regularity
Straight lines and perfect angles
Mundane, boring
A grid, man-made
Machine-like regularity
Straight lines and perfect angles
Mundane, boring
Some images
Must be allowed
To speak for themselves
Red tide of fire
Flash floods every morning
With the sun’s first rays
Storms and
The gentlest breath of air
Stripped me down
To barest essence
Through all that
Have I watched
The comings and goings
Of the living