oil spills

low lights. a slick of oil. we vanish, like echoes. reaching out and wasting away. the belfries of bodies bursting in the collapsible curiosities of collisions. late night fires shutting down streets. leaving only dark alleys with glistening oil stains. their dirty little spills we step across. running along the overgrown vacant lots, lost in the bustle of emergency and avenue. like echoes. carrying on so quietly, until there's nothing left but a slick of oil under the high lights of dawn. and the ringing of bells barreling down in the distance.