Sun in
my quiet eye

dust settle there
on bodies expired too soon
snatched up to the heaven
advertised in glossy pamphlets

important figurehead
expected the world of

cars go speeding through
residential area
while two people talk
a mile a minute
both at the same time at me
expecting I’ll understand
it’s like a chat room

funny turn out
across from the Cajun kitchen

wait and turn the radio on
my friend listens to my
recording saying
“it’s mature, introspective”


do people even have a clue
where I’m coming from?
probably not

the writing pad gets filled and
ink in present moment
is transfered over

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