Blue City
Timothy Nisly
Autumn leaves
a sour scent. Like chameleons, trees turn
to shelter yellow buses.
Black lines
buzz above.
Overgrown brush
beats in.
Orange jazz
like dust.
Blue city,
cold sun.
Blue City
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Blue City
As a summertime lover, I really don't want to think about autumn yet. But nice poem! Breaking it up, even though it's short, helped it feel more introspective and last longer.