The Void Is Thusly Filled

Slow moving poetry. Halogen lightning. Freedom is bass influenced, the protracted footfalls of going nowhere in particular. Freedom is crafting the perfect line and walking it in your most comfortable footwear. Meteors on the glass. Immersing yourself in the baritone of Summer’s last rites. The unimagined, half-remembered past that lines the street. The repetitious, favored words of the digital dead. A million flags will mark momentary change in status. This doesn’t last forever.