Tuesday, July 15, 2008

There is something pretty
that I forgot to mention
its relation isn’t far fetched
some others dementia
isn’t it like it was
the park situated
between block houses
four cornered
next to brick
it grows and dies
within the city
embedded in wandering
decay and superficial
realty people
selling, buying, lying,
right next to it
trees and dead winter grazed grass
down to a wilt of dirt and straw hats
wishing for when they’ll be seen
again in first days sunny heat
melting the streets we walk upon
unseen, appreciated in presence
at a standstill life slowly cyclic
while flutes play the stars a melody
and we leave ourselves to be
the trees sit next in witness

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