Bellies Full With Hydrocarbons

By Abel Ashes (All rights reserved)

Shopping carts pepper the parking lot like random sprinkles on rich dark devil’s food cake.
Automobiles rest motionless like sleeping insects.
Trees form parsley garnishes on the edges of this dirty black plate.
Horns honk like quacking ducks and noisy geese calling to the chirping birds tweeting the old fashioned way.
Cars sound like random whooshes of wind and muted lawnmowers.
Parking lot light fixtures look like George Jetson’s upside down flying car with arched aluminum exhaust streamers.
Marshmallow clouds are darkened by rain.
Yellow lines form a neon rib cage where tumors are parked, their bellies full with hydrocarbons.

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