Bogotá

Coloured plastics
lick the wounded sun
and they sparkle
in fumes and dusty air.

How can you get
away from an urge
that only wreaks havoc
with no reward and
no surrender?

Burnt thigh and
soaked dye that
fights for a grip
like a newborn.

Brushed concrete
finds us worthless
when we crawl
for breath through
its hidden arteries.

#365DaysOfPoetry

One thought on “Bogotá

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