PUBIC SPACE
WHERE THE PRIVATE MEETS THE PUBLIC
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Poetry is life. Life is a poem.
The trumpet of life
blears in my ear.
Symbolism.
But I can't hear it.
Like that bird he wrote of,
la, la, la.
But I cant't hear it
Digging deeper, deeper.
Coming up with...?
I still cant' hear it.
the essence of life?
Quite simply...
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