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Literature Text
Two white arches rise
enclosing charred spirals,
a crumbling wall,
two gaped holes
windows darkened by sunset.
Underneath a crashing wave;
your tongue, your eyes.
Flowing to the rhythm,
some unforgiving DJ
and a shot or two.
A jazz bar by old theater,
three stories fly so fast;
this is where I go
when autumn comes this year
I just can't seem to wait.
enclosing charred spirals,
a crumbling wall,
two gaped holes
windows darkened by sunset.
Underneath a crashing wave;
your tongue, your eyes.
Flowing to the rhythm,
some unforgiving DJ
and a shot or two.
A jazz bar by old theater,
three stories fly so fast;
this is where I go
when autumn comes this year
I just can't seem to wait.
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A collection of images, a mosaic of experiences. What is poetry if not the sum of glimpses, a disoriented feel that cannot be placed in a frame of the ordinary. This poem is a patchwork of moments in life, little fragments of reality gathered under a guided direction.
© 2009 - 2024 leoraigarath
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featured here, love; [link]