In the Yard

Identical boredom of the several streets, boy and man with nowhere to go
of an evening.
Hedged in.
How can temp-it-makes matter? Matter?
A strong world is ours, steeled. Underground there's the tune of wreckage.
The lead of wit infacted on two continents. Demo of hombre, what worth,
and a jargon, what for. A portrait, after all.
A strong surge of signals dash to dot. Or flag, on a hilltop.

James Brook | Mudlark No. 18
Tune of Wreckage | Dreamville