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Spoken version
A recorded reading of “First Light, Service Road”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
You toss me midnight crumbs— two texts, then wintered hands. You claim you’re “overrun” and post a rooftop sun. I follow dashed white signs; your line keeps skipping mine. Say it plain—make a choice; if it’s a loss, name it, or steady the wheel. No more crumbs—keep me whole or go. You breadcrumb every block, a mural that starts to loop my ribs with thread and park me in the dark. I come with a list and coins for the meter; I pocket grit from the stair; you’re gone between a kiss. Enough. I keep the first light from the roof’s cold ledge, let the street hum cinnamon late while patience cools on a plate. Streetlights thin to stars. I take the back road, set kerb, trowel a thin blacktop seam— block by lit block, I build my own boulevard.
Lyrics
You toss me midnight crumbs Two texts, then go all numb You say you’re “overrun” But post a rooftop sun I trace your dotted line It never meets with mine Say it plain Pick a lane Lose the game Or make it sane No more crumbs, no Feed me whole, oh You breadcrumb boulevard A trail that looks like art It bends around my heart Then drops me in the dark I bring a grocery list You bring a vanish kiss Mean the plan Take my hand If you can Make a stand No more crumbs, no Feed me whole, oh Sit down No frown One plate No wait No more crumbs, no Feed me whole, oh Streetlights fade to stars We leave that boulevard
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