Friday, August 11, 2017

Nostalgic Valentine

The first thing about writing
You notice is you chip off
A piece of darkness you detach
A shadow-form from
Its object where the light
Can’t get through
As if electrified and held there
But when the words left their home
In music and lived abroad
With gamblers and harlots
So the metaphor flows
Don’t think they weren’t
Often nostalgic and self-pitying
Long before they found
The good sense to return

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