… and, the conurbation, speaks in one roar strong.
Lives, minds, voices, all combined, none perceived.
Cry of a city fool in the worldmighty’s oration. Irony.
Yet, the stertor of a flower merchant makes you home. Cozy.
Cars at the circle. Revolutions per minute. Contained.
Am running low on love, hate me not if I stop, go around. Circles.
… and I am a congenator to it all, man of shadows many.
Memories, keepsakes, history, all kept, some considered.
- Armageddon! For nothing better to say, yells village idiot.
One day, I’ll go back to his hamlet, to throw apples at him, laughing.
-You’ll burn in hell! … Christian upbringing, can tell now.
A dump truck passes by… - I Do Solemnly Swear… One roar.
Oner roar, strong...