Stick-figure flats rising
Deeper in reflection

Where the TV Set buoys

Scaffolding pipes like an organ
Against charcoal boots

And the Tram docks
Hysterical
alongside
Sleeping Bags
lining
Opposing sides

Quixotic (Note: Unambiguous, Heroic) nomads traverse the tram lines
And the Suits bow their head in respect

The King fixed in his morning spot
Wheels through New Islington at Noon
Pushed by a Prince on an escapade…

Still, all sound stopped regardless.
The structure of the bridge climbed
Within its rust-stained reflection and
Fell between ripped pocket-lines
From a castout, crimson net.

Removal Emburdens:
NewThought Sours
Scum Raised Surface
Slops Against A Naked Heel.