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The stalk beneath its clotted floss
Limp and scentless in a drowse
Near lines of cars
With summer on them
Buds and wet and
White shit, on them
The city in its ugliness
Lost but for human loveliness -
Slapping round it, tough and oozing.
Not quite home I wake to watch
Six ants chase sun-stretched shadows back
©2008-2009 ~arielnin
:iconarielnin:

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August 2008

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August 7, 2008
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