Sunday, November 1, 2009
the moon hung
over a squat building
soon to burst through
tangled power lines
a bright bullet from the muzzle
i could taste
the tension of the wires
the metallic bite
of people on the sidewalks
short fused
their colors on parade
ready to fly
off the handle
into full night
give them each
a drink a song but no
this white moon
will have its dark say
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2 comments:
I like this poem and the photos. I am still trying to figure out why.
thanks, Annelie!
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