The young boy, now a man, sits in dread of imagined threats, and bemoans his station.
The young boy, now a man, sits in dread of imagined threats, and bemoans his station.
There’s no bird in the sky. None perched here. Not one over there. No chirp, tweet or song. Neither and nothing.
Deus ex machina, the way of man. Invented a rationale, to salve the conscience.
Why do you sit alone | In the medium | Atlanta traffic buzzing by | Were you abandoned
