The city is a saint.
I climb on my tire swing
to try and get a closer view of God.
Pray daddy tied the rope as true as his own.
His old Chevy tire
I swing without a push
reach out belief and bag a blessing
off a skyscraper’s spire.
© khartless 2020, All Rights Reserved
What Would Silvia Plath Write #141-50 words in her style
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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