Local Asshole Now Local Asshole With Blog: The Twisted Brain Wrong of a One-Off Man-Mental
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Sunday, December 13, 2009
Epic
his shortest poems his fullest in the sense they could not contain one syllable more
1 comment:
Look—it has fallen through
said...
Nothing so dogged as the silent air will come. Will come through tears a running figure, stuck shadow on the bricks The city’s dark and tastes of smoke, fireworks
may be gunshots and which ricochet like sirens like neon grinning thru the rain off wet road and bricks, finish too. A running figure, still shadow on the roof
dogged against headlight squalls & wind vanished at dawn. Will come in hours When dark the streets are cold and taste of junk, takeouts. breathe suddenly between us the fissuring spoke
Nothing as dogged as the silent air rush quiet is permanent vanishes too.
1 comment:
Nothing so dogged as the silent air
will come. Will come through tears
a running figure, stuck shadow on the bricks
The city’s dark and tastes of smoke, fireworks
may be gunshots and which ricochet
like sirens like neon grinning thru the rain
off wet road and bricks, finish too.
A running figure, still shadow on the roof
dogged against headlight squalls & wind
vanished at dawn. Will come in hours
When dark the streets are cold and taste of junk, takeouts.
breathe suddenly between us the fissuring spoke
Nothing as dogged as the silent air
rush quiet is permanent vanishes too.
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