ongo (ongo) wrote in beatgen,

Green Palm Trees

I cannot see the city anymore from Jen's computer desk. I see instead the silhouette of giants who block my view. Their hands reaching for the night sky as maples in spring form. Even though I don't see the city, I still remember the winter days from a distance; their stale-air-haze and low cloud line. We could only see the tops of skyscrappers that morning as we drove for breakfast. The air tram from the hospital sunk into white obscurity as we rode the red shuttle around the cloudy shore. Without a wave it trashed and rolled, that body of molecules, skipping rocks on the surface of the sky, a high tide for morning.
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