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dank is the alley
and the way is lost
repurposed appliance containers
house dancers who sleep
crusted and disheveled lovers
make due in the fumbling way of
young innocents new to bliss
opulence hides behind a wall
and wooden legs have no springs
the pungent perfume of dreams
wafts in a lazy haze
of remembered tangos
tangled in a frantic fiasco
of a puppy's affectionate metaphor
for something lied about
by those who lost
what others have found
in child's play
but libations fuel fantastic
flights of fancy
and marionettes need little sleep
nightmares aren't real
unless you wake to them
the baton is raised
and a waltz begins
but a poor orchestra
feigns rhythm
and no one is fooled
soon critics cruelly weed out
the offenders
the pace quickens
a bolero
with salsa
sizzles red
the rain turns the pavement pink
all think the problem is solved
but it's a minstrel show
tumbleweeds don't plan
there's no income
for poor performance
and no instruction
without means
a bridge can be crossed
or it can be a roof
you can be by the river
or in it
the river is heartless
for it does not love
but it is blameless
for it does not hate
fate laughs within a raindrop
the Maestro conducts
so they say
the clouds deliver rain
but wind propels them
wind goes somewhere
and came from somewhere
She is lovely
standing on the balcony
of Lucky Manor
the breeze causes her hair
to bounce on her shoulders
like approving applause
when you're homeless
and soaking wet
a summer breeze
chills to the soul
Mankind writes music
and plays it
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michaelcahill
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