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There was a bar in Wrigleyville that displayed a huge sign informing all that they proudly play classical music after every Cub game. Not true. The bar had a great juke box. The owner made the sign to help keep out the “suburban riff-raff.” His words.

Freight

It’s not the twilight
of memory
that worries me

or the foot speed
that pratfalls
at a canter

nor the Heave Ho
effort for so paltry
a pulmonary response

It’s that the degradation
isn’t singular

Damnit.

It’s shared

She can’t lie. I’d
testify.

But her eyes break faith.

I am the burden.

Her true
and well
loved
encumbrance.

Day 8 NaPoWriMo 2013

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Vernalis

Somewhere someone plans
a spring offensive
somewhere someone young
will die
the old will be bled
and babies force marched
through a warmer gentler
April

Where bombs will concuss
bullets bloom
and snipers shape shift with
sudden green shoots

and headlines will seek
an approbate font

as the front opens
winter’s history revised

*****Day Two NaPoWriMo April 2013
—————————————-

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