Tuesday, September 04, 2012


The river rolled as I inhaled
a happy meal ‘bout halfway staled
and morning sunlight slowly paled
behind a cloud of gray,

while miles away the thruway thrummed
with those that hadn’t yet succumbed
like old guitars that can’t be strummed
despite how well you play;

there’s got to be a better path
around this road of rigid wrath
the culprit known as concrete hath
attempted to convey.

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