Monday, August 19, 2013


Hurry cannot take you to my thundercloud
as children's fingers, spokes of light,
poke through the supermarket walls
and park benches dangle from the powerlines
ozone cracks your irises
you travel ancient cities in the dark
stars blurred by a whirl
to find me sitting calm
in all the places I once raged
classical music blasting from the trees
and a new haircut

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