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somewhere I am growing up the panicked drug deer legged
somewhere the lake is black and silver in an old quiet moon and the kids say drink the lake water and the light and call out and call out and call out and call out and call out and call out and call out
somewhere cement under his feet and he’s looking up at the sky over the wail of parking lot lights and the sun falling away and he’s bones and blood and muscle under his skin he is someone he is dollar bills in his wallet breath in the air red tongue
somewhere god of tar and street
somewhere red crayon lips
somewhere she’s sidewalk skinned she’s bright moon faced she’s winter in the bones of the city light she’s listening to the sound of train growl and the clack she’s listening she’s listening she’s listening she’s listening - one hundred sixty six
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Posted on January 25th, a grand Friday, Common Era 2008 at 11:28 am.
Category: worthless
Tags: poem, poetry, prose, writing
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+ Holden
January 27th, 2008
She’s listening, but he doesn’t dare to listen