notes on poetry, literature, music, tv , movies.
Friday, March 16, 2012
a poem for the last guy who called me
Notice every face
in the windows of habitual smirking,
love is nothing like the dollars in the drain,
sudden noises like bottle caps dropping arrange hairs in old dramas,
there are no good reasons to soldier on,
lovely that we
are in line
awaiting tickets
to wait
in line.
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