There are broken crayons on broken pavements. There are faded streaks of color, of houses and flowers and trees and suns. Under the shadows of grown trees and twisted shrubs, I watch the colors fade and shatter into broken fragments. Writhing and winding, they weave and fold together into a labyrinth of color, and for a moment I see the rainbow. Then just as quickly it passes, until the colors become a muddled obscurity, of grays and blacks and browns.
On broken pavements there are broken crayons.
Split down its spine and lost in the gaps.
- Tin Thoughts