mid-week prose – london.

Sitting crossed legged on the pavement
I am fixated on a woman playing the harmonica
 while delicately strumming her guitar.
Her song, a lullaby to the man who sleeps
not far from where we are seated.
I imagine her music 
is what wakes him each morning..
looking to the streets of this illuminated city, 
overwhelmed by it’s artistic expression.
It’s in every corner, window and doorway.
Illimitable panels filled with endless color.

-Written by me, in London, circa 2005.


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