There’s a sun shining in the boulevard,
Luminous to a worldly canard.
Has a face dating back to the renaissance,
Stationary the flames remain.

While the woman in the obsidian polo shirt,
A wallflower monarch in the ever-spreading dirt.
She’s an ox dime with a chime to a buffalo nickel,
Holy Sol Invictus seizes her, his last ordain.

I see her reaching for the sunlight,
Fiddling the embers with her own mimics.
My,...