Poetry Submission

The Dandelion hands 

Petrol station, 
illumination
Three doors down
the Sparrows crown
Their king 
Blackberries, a tin foil hat
And a pound-shop ring
He perches, claws out

Didactic, monochromatic, 
Bathed golden in streetlight,
Solitude left astray, 

Empty crisp packets, 
Hunched shoulders clad 
In leather jackets 
The consumeristic gunshot 
Of our urban decay 

Quaint in the quiet hours 
No face, no name
A single seed falls 
This bittersweet disarray 
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