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tiny poetry

poetry, but smaller.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

apocryphal

we danced--
through street gutters;

flowed through drains
that outlined
the infrastructure of your city,

but I long for the romance
of your countryside,

where we could flit across fields of liquid wheat
in the bottoms of your valleys

and my tongue would search for release
in rivers that dance around rocks like a language
Posted by subject to subjectivity at 12:50 AM

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