2.1.14

natalie wood

isnt true that love and hey jude
are born of the same tin can?
the homesick migratory calm of window-glass,
small-hatted children's songs and vanilla.
the painted metal walk-bys of nested southern cities
france's pride and loneliness, its worn stone
The colored chairs were misremembered as a set;
I will outlive the passing thought of you.




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