shepard fairey



ras

ras

ras


ras

ras

ras

ras

gustav dore

our boys

death and burial

wm

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Wine And Roses


hold the wine; its allure gone,
excepting those priors, no fault

like the present. Chasms I can’t look
into, so deep did they run;

splintery forms, still locked onto
sheer concretized walls, clipped

rebar running rust; here and there,
inexplicably unbound, a tie-wire

rocks on any pickup of the wind,
barely breathed, and silent,

the thruway no longer closed.


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