Charcoal Poetry

Autumn spilled red onto the cracked street canvas
Blindingly grey in the wrong eyes
And the wrong eyes hungered for static noise
from hollow television frames
Stars spat soliloquies into the night
Inaudible over the resounding blare
the sheer weight shifted paper flesh
and poetry dripped from the resulting edge

A boy sits alone with his broken strings
so distant from the other puppets
He learned how to catch eyefuls of sky
And pour them out onto paper