The CityA Poem by Gene Von Banyard
A self-conceived galley offers little more than conceit. A console cowboy and a computer made obsolete. The eyes burn as the water levels rise; can a child kill its own kind? On the concrete catwalk thoughts drop like rain.
© 2016 Gene Von Banyard |
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Added on February 20, 2016 Last Updated on February 20, 2016 Author
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