Friday, February 20, 2009
THE TALISMAN MOON
…spoke through many nights.
I found a friend in front of a church.
We were both eyeing the same guitar left
for trash beneath a tree by the street light.
It was fret-less, unstrung, gutted of song.
“Probably full of bed bugs,” you muttered.
We debated the meaning of the night
and then each went our separate ways,
leaving the guitar behind.
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LONG PLAYING The just-past-full moon parsed and dissected by black tree branches and a screen window open to a taut Spring chill on t...
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