There's a gap in the establishment

A narrow shadow

Sweating in the breeze.

Bristles of light flicker

On dim specks

Of misspelled graffiti

It simply reads:

 

NO MORE FALSE PROFITS.

 

An accidental but fortunate irony.

But no understatement

Has ever saved any

From what is real.

 

To journey between people

And escape the remains

Of a dead year

Is what shapes

The creation of another.

Become the whisper

Of disregard

Forever refreshed

In the luxuries

Of the anonymous.