Mulberry St.

July 1, 2012
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Whisper and flakes

Of hair in your face

Your eyes are like mine

They take me by surprise

The thundering noise

Of clouds that are poised

To meet the ground

In heavy hounds

Of rain falling from the gray

And your coat dragging like a train

Through the mud of the walks

And the grass of the park

The lights already burning out

Trying to pass through and shout

With their yellow dim bulbs

Through the fog of it all

Mist sticks to your cheeks

In beads of translucent bleak

And that damn hair is still on your face

The thunder is gone

The gray has disappeared

The lights are turned off

There’s no more fog here

The suns coming up

As we walk on by the mud of the walks

The grass of the parks

Your coat still dragging slower than before

The mist is dry

And we pass on by

Mulberry St. where the moon will rise

Later at night

When the freaks arrive

Is where we’ll be

With your hair in your face

And your eyes that look like mine

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