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Thursday, March 24, 2011

Lost Americana

I close my eyes and see
Trees standing guard
Over white houses and
Children playing alone
In the Dusk

Fall is always one town over,
Carnivals and Ferris wheels
Lighting restless neon dreams,
Flashing disturbed midnight slumber

Awake, the living are found
In the smell of wet grass
The crack of wooden bats,
In the purple juice and bloodstains
On hidden groves of blackberry brambles

The silent hum of radios
And railroad tracks
A glimpse of dancing fireflies

I gather the moment around me,
No more substantial then a Summer mist
And open my bewlidered eyes.

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