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Kids from Yesterday
Dazed cocoa orbs,
bloodshot pale canvases.
Molly.
A beautiful digital photograph,
current surges, optical lenses, subconscious
paralyzed scenes.
Ignite the temperature of the sidewalks.
Breathing, exhaling, through the car door windows.
Intersections, gas stations,
cars escaping, running on disintegrating tar avenues.
Those nights do not emit, do not repeat fluorescent globes,
silhouettes of anatomy.
Bloodless polluting exhaust breaking through,
bruised cadavers.
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My poem is about a time that I want back, a moment I want to inhale. I miss her.