Poem # 37

My common sense in those portions which
were already running like analogies-
now as if by chance- my watch, gradual
sins and in some cases perhaps great
shadows full of thankfulness flashing
like neon nightborn Gods for a time.

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Doors

1.

Metal clashing, food frying
in the air mingled with
drugs and perfumes of
mirth alongside the tinkling
sounds of nymphgirls
spilling out of crowded
doorways kicking up the
concourse with a
definite motion
individually, but
also collectively
they sigh.

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