“I Am The King of
7:49, Tuesday morning.
This red light only stops me for a while.
To my right, the shops still sleep
Dreaming of new sidewalks and awnings made of silver and gold.
A lone man pushes himself against traffic
He touches every tree jammed into the slowly warming concrete
accurate and smooth
With brief, gentle strokes
Behind glasses his eyes glare forward, lost in thought
His feet guiding him
As if he’s been here before.
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