![]() Sunshine RecorderA Poem by Soil Creep
A season ago,
the last time we spoke, I rummaged through my trunk searching for your possessions. Now, somewhat irregularly, someone else inquires about your rummaging. Listed as a reference, I receive these investigators. I tell them that I don't know how to contact you. And each time I am alarmed. By how erudite a simple phone call can be.
© 2013 Soil CreepAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on October 9, 2013 Last Updated on October 9, 2013 Tags: art poetry postmodern Author
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