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Drifter.

By February 5, 2018The City

By Ellen Shelley

The world spins
an awkward apparition
changes step only when the wind swirls
riding out the storm
gathering up your waif frame
finding peace,
a crutch within your veins.

The rain is the city
a melodic trance
tapping your walls
weeping acceptance like
music on hollowed reeds
your skin blisters then falls
marking your beat.

A cold gust of night
urges your shift

smoke engulfs              your face
invisible on swollen streets
a thorn in the wind
lost in all directions.