Bitter Apple

In the city, coffee-toting zombies of the morning

pass along the avenue, a rich soup of smog and

haze. Skyscrapers stretch to block the sun, weeds

growing in the cracks of neglected sidewalks. The

ground shakes, carrying workers to the daily cubicle

of artificial buzzes and clicks as birds glide carelessly

in the parks, chirping nostalgically. Dreams are

carried out here, amongst the quick and able,

the tried and true; but those captivated by the

wondrously small, the tiny thrills of nature,

are left behind in the dust of taxis passing. 


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