November 9, 2016
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The chords of an ’04 guitar spiral through

the AM radio waves dripping like honey into
roads slicked with dawn’s first breath.
Nostalgia leaks through windows, clawing
through claw machines with five cents
gumballs and stuffed giraffes, the sugary
words of picture books reflecting on the
glass of a past long gone but remembered.
At night, the stars radiate like birthday card
glitter, the flames in our eyes sweeter
than valentine’s day candy and local-produced
ice cream. Photos captured in large lens
cameras with the moon pulsing and breathing
in the youthful dark gleam against the
refracted light of forever-ago.

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