Poetry from Brianna Dawn.

when red lights no longer red

will the red of stop lights feel useless
if the existence of footsteps and creatures
crossing their streets were wiped from
the world, or would they turn red on
themselves, stopping themselves –
leaving the night to curl her fingers
around dark, empty streets holding
tears and wrinkles from
tires and feet

____
backdated post a day poem for October 9th, 2017

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