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this fiction of mine laboured tightly in the skull of memories and mysteries worked to the wheel by furies who deal the willing thread in...

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

from the today pieces


early this morning i stood at a crossroads
one went north one went south one went east
and one went into the alley of death
the itch and tarzan were on the corner
in cheerful talk about boys on the lam
though they were ill the itch was wet
his broken eyebrow had been patched up
while tarzan fell off the tree his pants
are baggier still and his eyes are darkening

then a pirate cab went by like a flash
the eyes of a woman set memories tripping
as she turned to look back in recognition
and smiled fading rapidly in the rear glass
i crossed the street and went into the alley

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