Q u i d a m

Stranger things

Roads are pitched with black holes,

think if someday the clouds came overall to moles,

I was crossing in the subway; merrily to escape a narrow down,

but the sizzling gleaning rays were scattered in the ground,

quite in a few, but not in the star— a fellow was already running towards the bus,

before I could've regained the posture: his slight contact came in touch.

"Who are you?"— was my bewildered questioning gaze,

but only with a smug smile; he put me in a maze,

"there's a sign of going other side but
how

can you be so sure this would be good?" he asked.

"isn't what everyone does? Follow the street signs, go over the place," I tsked.

"fool rushes without knowing first, you're withering an unknown gamble,"

"what's even there to even conjure?" even if my voice gave away little tremble,

"for anyone who can mistake with the roads befallen in the danger hap," he rejoined.

"maybe you're just deluding the trucking jobs with des moines,"

"if you likely to believe, cross the road & tis' pitchy black,"

mayhaps it's a trapezoid of lying sacks.

just like he came, he vanished into thin air

for me to contemplate, what's fair?

always two sides of conjugation — and leaving me with calculation.

what's safest to unravel, when they all are cluttering with imitations?

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