Friday, March 5, 2010

Seventh Poem

The Story Teller

Smoke Inhaled

Inflating

Embodied

A living cliché in

The little boy who

Never

Grew up.

The sophist

the prince

the Employee at the Liquor Depot on 178.th

His true worth lies in torrid, truth-less tales Served best cold with night creaks and distant traffic while sitting side by side in the skeletal playground where once in matching bowl cuts and fluorescent shirts we raced His old self dreams of living once again in natural light but even smoke cannot exist in two worlds at once

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