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Literature Text
Sometimes the day
Hour
A minute
Is a person
Mostly anyone
On the edge of the concrete sidewalk which is
Lying dead inside a thousand mile tunnel
As a hundred wailing ambulances
Go driving by
Have I been in one
Is the past's detail to embrace
But the future lusts
To throw me inside
While the present sits
Across the road
From me
Trying to say something
I am listening intently
But the traffic eats his words
And I can only hope
That it wasn't anything important
Hour
A minute
Is a person
Mostly anyone
On the edge of the concrete sidewalk which is
Lying dead inside a thousand mile tunnel
As a hundred wailing ambulances
Go driving by
Have I been in one
Is the past's detail to embrace
But the future lusts
To throw me inside
While the present sits
Across the road
From me
Trying to say something
I am listening intently
But the traffic eats his words
And I can only hope
That it wasn't anything important
A slice of vagueness.
Originally written March 14, 2012
Originally written March 14, 2012
© 2012 - 2024 LunarSpoon
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