Monday, October 29, 2007

the layout of
the city,
it's not as big as the
postcards make it out to be
and it seems hard to stay dead
this time of year
with leaves rustling and soul music
propelled like in
wind tunnels,
and these aren't your ghosts,
they're mine,
I'll take 'em home tonight
and we'll kill that bottle
in the cool air
just like we used to

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