Cobblestones Chisel-forced into form, pounded into place among others, we pave the city’s first east-west street; shadow-cold at dawn. Holy heels tap tap tap across our chilled grey granite as pastors and priests walk to and from church, and when they run to meet after-sermon mistresses laid bare on their backs across ours. Beneath such heat the stench of horse dung rises - trapped below, we sweat. Karen Pierce Gonzalez
What can I say? This poem had its way with this prompt. #PoemsAbout #GutterPrayer @brokenspinearts.bsky.social
@alanparry83.bsky.social #KeepCreative #KeepWriting #KeepingSharing #KeepReposting #Poetry #PoetsOfBlueSky