Thursday, June 8, 2017

instead of a wall, a grey wall

Eyes shut, I can tell there were once flowers here
where there was once a street
now is just a pile of grey concrete

I used to remember
pink flowers swooshing past the islands
in the middle of the world
as if between the world and me

were those pink flowers 

it didn't change, who said so?
Don't let my tenses confuse you

there were once pink flowers, that still are, living
as if frozen, piled over with concrete
as in, a way to forgetfulness is to cement
make a base and go on from there

between the world and me
there were once pink flowers
that were, that still are, cemented 
into a wall- instead. 

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