lines on the road paralyze me redefine me reignite a sort of otherworldly longing in me orange blurs into yellow blurs into black lines blink in and out of a parallel existence / red was never a factor in this but you could never chalk red into yo

this old sink,

hanging onto the wall by a thread

and a rusted pipe,

gushes water that still runs clear,

even after the generations of girls 

(in pig- and pony-tails, braids and loose) 

IZIMA

Be careful, Izima.