Monday, December 11, 2017

The Poem

into the morning
     a gleam of rising run
listening to disparate lines
          in the spotlight
a monitor light bleeds
     on the stage
a rhythm of breathing bodies
          the humming metallic lung of cars
     their dreaming
moves along bedroom walls
          into the horizon
that lingers on the periphery
          of thrift store landscapes
     the life of anonymous painters
retching on spoiled bits
   of rotted fame

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