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Stuck, still, traffic bound, sat in silent solitude, surrounded by my fellow man, each encased in learnt response, reacting to each small inflection, never more than their reflection. a woman walks, smile arresting, her soul is etched, by need and hate, contoured to her given face, her eyes cast back, my own construction, sat here, bound, a tired agent, dreaming of emancipation. the light, it changes, breaking state, a reflection of my inner scape. The journey drives us past our haste, an automaton craving grace.
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Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 7:57 PM UTC
traffic lights
Stuck, still, traffic bound, sat in silent solitude, surrounded by my fellow man, each encased in learnt response, reacting to each small inflection, never more than their reflection. a woman walks, smile arresting, her soul is etched, by need and hate, contoured to her given face, her eyes cast back, my own construction, sat here, bound, a tired agent, dreaming of emancipation. the light, it changes, breaking state, a reflection of my inner scape. The journey drives us past our haste, an automaton craving grace.
christopher-withers
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Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 7:57 PM UTC
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