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I Miss the Old Atlantis This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

I remember the feeling
of asbestos snowflakes
toppling down from bridges
and landing on my torn cap.

I reminisce the smell
of gasoline -diesel-
warm pies at Christmas
piss in the gutter
perfume in mother's hair.

I prophecy the oceans receding.
I prophecy our tongues
thick and cracked like the desert basin.
I prophecy our homes catch fire
and Atlantis shines her rusty glory.

We will taste ash and pills.
We will sleep our deaths away.
We will become disinterested
with every stop sign and harsh siren.
Telephones and sundials
will crumble to dust.

We will flee to the normal
the safe-guarded white collar
to manufacture technology
in the name of the future.

Though her steely peaks
will rise anew,
I miss the old Atlantis.




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