Friday, April 27, 2012

To be young

It's not missing
the moon sinking over
the city,

A deep clementine falter.

Its not missing us,
you sway
in our
used to be

Time
is simple

ours, unerring

I sink to my cigarette knees
Sometimes

Bearing up the memory
A farm field bird

Wood floor wings

The red suspender
Days

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