Seen from another angle as when an area—station, square—contemplated on Sunday.
The expression may calcify into a demonstration of thistle-thorn dismay.
By “imagine your face” I mean shadow, your expression itself a shadow.
These colors: light green sky, pale stone, graffiti: these colors now.
The emporium of youth versus the emporium of adulthood.
If Person A will ail at Point X, then Person B will ail at Point Y.
(Loneliness aggrandizes the symmetrical nature of most pain.)
Whereas a big galosh of dirty cloud busts open a caucus of old doves.
These colors: pale stone, water-wood, radio tower: these colors now.
What brightens the ticking synapses versus what warms the solid state capacity for violence.
The difference between idling (unit of river bank) and waiting (unit of high-rise.)
Rust, rusty coloring, what gnaws into our porticos of awareness.
By “imagine your face”, I mean the uncorrected ritual of love.
Or the sliding scale of sunlight, or the balloting of voices in airshafts and alleys.