Daisy Salesman

I.

This city is a study

in the cold steel of architecture,

functionality with little else

the wind whispers a funeral dirge

the flower vender is no longer here

perhaps out of business

perhaps something worse

II.

staring at the weeds growing from the concrete below,

I am fascinated by the thought of falling

thirty stories of an infinite flight,

this is existence set on fire

now sprawled on the sidewalk

the crimson shock a love-gift

to awaken the colorless gray

now, shall we know true living?
 in the broken bones,

the screaming nerves,

in these moments just before the end?

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this is the second half of something I wrote... not sure if I like the first part yet, so I just didn't post it

*oO-Rein-Oo on deviantart.com

Cro-Du