After Lunch, When I Felt Not Real, Perhaps Dead
She walked with a pronounced
limp. Despite that,
I thought everything
would work out.
but there was a streetscape
topped with beauty.
The black curls were bouncy, variable-
speed like fake rubber. No, she marches
upright, seriously real. I need to
dance but I am alone.
American Culture, Angels, Day Job, Death, Depression, Idealism, Isolation, Poems, Poetry
This entry was posted on June 1, 2012, 10:12 pm and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0.
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#1 by Carl D'Agostino on June 2, 2012 - 8:48 am
She walked with a pronounced limp. At first I thought this was going to be about the federal government.
#2 by Carl on June 4, 2012 - 9:31 pm
That would be crawling with a pronounced limp, right?
#3 by Find an Outlet on June 2, 2012 - 11:02 am
It’s OK to dance alone, I do it all the time. You never know what can happen.
#4 by Carl on June 4, 2012 - 9:33 pm
You are right, of course. It’s all right to do anything alone as long as it is for the good.