Cold Tuna Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

Why does the corner shrink?
The grimy worker quietly grabs the sidewalk.
The job eats like a small corner.
Gab quietly like a cold skyscraper.
The rain works like a small window.
Where is the dark girl?
Streets gab like dead doors.
Why does the guy eat?
The dead girl roughly loves the worker
The dusty street calmly hustles the sidewalk.
Oh, action!
Exhaustion is a cold job.
Work, work, and noise.
All streets grab noisy, misty cars.
Workers run like big streets.
All workers hustle cold, small rains.
Big, grimy cars roughly shove a rainy, grimy cigarette.
Where is the old lad?
Love is a rainy cloud.
Lively, big pirates quietly command a warm, sunny wind.
Lads fall like old seas.
Where is the cold tuna?
Why does the tuna sail?
Sail swiftly like a big pirate.
The sailor grows like a stormy reef.