Out of the car and its dirt-peppered cover of reality.
A collage of dying reds and yellows,Designed to stoke sight in my darkened third eye.
Perhaps a feeling?
But a man's on the path.
He has invented traffic and is as unwanted as an accident.
Before him there was no other, now he'll need an ambulance.
A reminder that I suffer from another's very visage,
A melancholy I cannot mend.
The Narrow Way gives way,
And Pandemonium's port opens.
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