We carry our separate moons
Along our sides as we walk-
Mine tarnished, oxidized;
A memoir of neglect.
I address a constituency
Of shallow graves and turn,
Face the flames;
Fall flat when they ask
Where I’ve been.
Reply quick with a laugh,
A deep, bright, belly laugh,
Whisper: “Valhalla!”
WOULD YOU LIKE A FAMOUS ARTS
10 years ago
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