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12-07-2008, 06:23 PM | #55 (permalink) |
Meanie McFeany
Join Date: Aug 2008
Location: Troy side'ah the dirt, NY
Posts: 455
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A Sunday in Winter
A Sunday In Winter The skies kiss without haste, but with the abandon of the Most Beautiful Woman in Town. Street lights fall upon the flurry, with the diction of a Dylanesque degenerate. Radicals fall from inside the sky with a stamp that says they’d came from Eden. Kids walk up and down in the black that they’ve worn since their renaissance. Their faces are red with the blood from their bodies. Their cigarette’s smoke is contrasted nicely with the nightcave streets, where you can hide more easily, in the dark. The red is contrasted nicely with the cream on ice from the sky. Down the street there is a wedding canopy that is being weighed on with virgin snow. It will brake before morning, and not look so pure anymore. Houses are cold and the home on the hill is warm hearted. Feet are turned blue and lips are shrunk, chapped. Women’s legs turn dry and without purpose. Noses are red and they are blew. Vaseline sells and so does penicillin and lube. People make love to stay warm near the fire. They’ve walked through badly, while others are dying outside with warmer feet than they without a swagger, but of lovelessness and cynicism that meant more than a life. |
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