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Not Personal
By Maya White-Lurie
QuailBellMagazine.com If every poem is a prayer then, Honey, all the Richmond lights are bad dads, hovering attentive until needed then vanishing breath time. Old noodles sour in the garbage bags we leave for gloved hands each Monday, train tracks rattle through typewriter letters, your stubble rasps my palm. Fireworks and the party across the alley continue all night in independence key, but everything shits when it dies. Everything. So, Honey, throw that hoop about your hips remember we are drifting crusts on magma. #Unreal #Poem #Poetry #Richmond #LivingLife #Party #Noises #Disturbances #Magma #AlwaysMoving
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Comments
emily
6/5/2015 06:48:59 am
I love it Comments are closed.
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