Spare Time

We walk over the pavements that display a crude mosaic of chewing gum, needles and half dead pigeons. I know that mountains reside here, that fields now entombed with concrete offer a catacomb only visible through aged eyes. As our coats hang loose, the change in our pockets jangle, just enough ammo to pass this free time, that we never hold sacred enough. It now frees us momentarily from the iron traps that have become far more comfortable than we ever anticipated. No need now for those once consistent breakouts, as the waters now run at our pace, not theirs.