The Stranger


like clouds, hot smoke
rises above the street.
he leans against the cracks
in the wall, his grey
eyes following the black
pavement where his shoes

meet the other shoe
prints. flickers of grey
light seep between cracks
in the dark black
alleyway. the street
crushes the smoke

from the end of his smoked
cigarette. the black
matches hidden in his shoe
light a new stick of grey.
a smile cracks
his face, the street

absorbs him. he sits in the street.
his fingers lock and crack.
pouring from his lips, the smoke
billows towards the grey
clouds. his eyes meet his shoes.
in the distance, black

steam rises, black
stacks that reach above the street,
above his shoes.
farther still, a smoked
crow flies into the grey
clouds. a heavy crack

goes through the sky, cracks
of light hit the sky, rain scatters the street,
leaving his aged shoes
soaked through. his grey
eyes meet the sky and go black
from the smoke.

he rises. his shoes hit the cracks
in the dying street made grey
from the smoke; the clouds of black.


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