(the end)A Poem by Leslie Philibertthe enda river full of dead pigs a burning moon a child shitting in mud was that it then, just that ? no trace of birth or a cold tuber that might seek helplessly your hands wet with drops from a rusty tap fingernails dark and underlined that follow the trace of a fleeing star an escape into the big black over the wall, over the wall.
© 2013 Leslie PhilibertReviews
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15 Reviews Added on March 21, 2013 Last Updated on March 21, 2013 AuthorLeslie PhilibertBavaria, GermanyAboutI`m not important. I just want to write a couple of good poems. Just read what I write. That`s enough. more..Writing
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