the sieve and the sand

Leaving the wheat with the chaff. This is not your mother's poetry blog.

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blast

freezing smiling knowing i’ll catch a cold

poetry

fragrance blaring
blasting, blowing, passing
people standing in far too perfect of lines
music wafting
shaking the blades of grass
i see locked behind green picket
knee-high fences

October 9, 2008 Roger Mugs Tagged blast, cold Leave a comment
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