## A poem I wrote at 1 in the morning. All analyses welcome.

A lonely four-way intersection sat in the middle of a vast, arid desert.

All was quiet and eerily surreal.

Suddenly, the road began to quake,

As if thousands of iron-fitted feet marched upon it.

Turns out it was just some cars.

Four cars, to be exact, each travelling on a separate side of the intersection,

Their paths, although technically crossing, by the very definition of an intersection,

Never crossing.

Finally, they met at the intersection;

They all stopped abruptly.

Four cars sat at an intersection;

Four people sat at an intersection;

One intersection sat at itself.

And so, the cars sat,

Waiting patiently for the one of the group to make a move,

(As is the polite thing to do).

The first car did not,

Nor did the second,

Nor did the third.

The fourth attempted to move,

But a jaguar spawned, seemingly out of thin air, in the passenger seat.

It devoured the driver whole.

Four cars sat at an intersection;

Three people sat at an intersection;

One jaguar sat at an intersection;

One intersection sat at itself;

All was quiet and eerily surreal.

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- lady-bodhisattva reblogged this from aflockofbears and added:
that was strangely beautiful

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