guy walks down a road he knows
he's wandered many times before
looking for something, someone,
somehow, some reason to ignore
the signs that flash their lights in spite
of night's desire to overcome
the moon and all it thinks itself
so sure its stand against the sun
through gutter trash and safety glass
he wades neck deep and waits for sleep
in lieu of picket fences painted
red to match these bloodied streets
and though this scene is nothing new
to him whose paths diverged once more
whose woods give way to meadows
just may find his shelter from the storm
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