untitled
S
Samuel Wagan Watson
0
Altın Yaprak
the late shift erupts;
Greek boys in turbo-fitted 4s
open the back streets
of bitumen lines built for mice
a gear-crunching
nightscape howl
simultaneously
embraced and ejected
into the dire congestion of the city's spectral pitch
like the fading trumpet oratorio
of an emphysema-riddled jazz musician
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