through hovels and huddles
thick with people in rags
unnoticed, out of place
following...listening
din and hum decreasing
from a now thinning crowd,
less people in the heart
of these webbing streets.
the sound continues on
thrusting itself, rifling,
unchecked becoming all,
All of his attention.
Donning it's voice each time
"come, come, come..." Repeated.
and then, the source is open.
a door gaping at streets end
FIN
Struggled with this one. I was trying to keep the parts coming since it's a series poem, but it's difficult to write in a sleepless tour van with all kinds of rhythmic metal blasting.
PS Stones Overturned guys, you are all supa friends. Thanks for going on tour with us!
PPS Mike B thanks for encouraging me about the first part of this series. You convinced me to keep trying on this difficult section.
