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Poem Number 22982
the swirling leafs
those leafs are still gently swirling against the concrete shore,
as the endless circles of car horns, lovers, and cracked desires
find there way into the lake.
a suffocating beauty of pollution,
swirling with the same poetry that has run through
before eyes began brightly, then comfortable,
long before the words form
was shaped into a modern payday
of past and present.
the lake has always been speaking this feeble
but somehow perfect language.
that moves around the leafs,
breaking light through desire.
and that plastic bag so brutally thrown into it,
may be the final suffocation,
is forgiven and woven.
creating new words for a new world
our product in the great stupidly of animal necessity
and the lake will whisper on long after the lovers have left.
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