Brick Red

Branches fall and break blooming brick sequences of movement. Daily stoning in America follows this pleasant brick. Footfalls tease rectangles into squares but cobbles drain from cinnabar lunches their forms of surprise and talkativeness. Piles of brown sunsets brick over my empty dusk. Walls, piles, sunsets, mildew in thoroughly impudent services reflecting windows beneath dirt windows. Terracotta isn’t fragile damnit!