Two intersecting lines were drawn in
the center of a crossroads.
The woods between the town and its
water tower was overgrown, and waiting
to be burned.
Glimpses of collapsing sheds, at the edges
of abandoned property, fill the corners of
half conscious bus rider’s eyes.
Sliding thumbs across circular plastic
they turn the volume up to ten then
slowly fall asleep again.
The roads are empty but everything is
waiting for the crowd. An amorphous mass
of faces and voices rolling from storefront
to storefront, soaking up the lives of
all it touches.
There is a banner over the window blocking
the light.
Teleporting Typewriter 