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Patio 95 (Free verse) by ecargo

As it runs through its repertoire, that flashing mimic bird moving from hit to hit smoothly, counterpoint the trees talk of storms rolling in from the dark west, the black locusts swaying, heavy and hushed and these hours of ease (unease) come undone, and even I-95's sullen roar sounds like wind rising like a sea.

ecargo 2-Jul-06/12:29 PM
Ah, poor Ranger. ;) I hope you emerge, unbowed, from the pit of athletic despair. Or at least get a poem out of it.

Hiyas, folks.




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