Sixty Three

The billboard flashes in bright neon
like it is auditioning for a place at a rave
right behind the DJ where everyone can see it
and no-one will pay it any mind.


It flickers wild and hopeful,
screaming it’s inherent beauty
In a language that it has no control over.


It is hoping that one day it will take back it’s tongue
tell a story that it has even the smallest shred of investment in
so that at last all the eyes that pass over it
will see it for what it truly is
and not what it has been made to be.


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