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Only a silver-cream hue bemuses the clouds.
Its sun is riding along with me
as I drive along the city’s edge
to John Mayer “half of my heart’s got a grip
on the situation…”

Half-naked buildings with hollow eye
sockets – monstrous mechanical creatures
sprawled in unseemly
langour – heaving cars jammed
bone to bumper on a flying expressway –
“Down the road later on you will hate…”
… and a breathless sun strings along the edge
of a beaming broken sky.

“Can’t stop loving you… can’t stop loving you…”
An airplane flies away from the fire behind
the clouds and pale-faced city-bred trees
gently cup the chin of a dying sun – John Mayer
tells the crawling traffic “Half of my heart won’t do….”

half the city is innocent of these sun-moist skies.

In my head, a wandering wistful
whisper “…half of my heart… half of my heart..”