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I sit and look out the window at expensive houses and trees two seats just for me and the umbrella between my knees I do not anticipate rain anymore father sun, that face of God flashes a smile on a spot of the road where all lie shot in the chest by arrows of love from summer's bow, this cupid, dogs wag their tails in humid heat, someone spits out fruit pits. heavy clouds of thunder still linger in the humming air, filled with noise and Jesus' voice, whispering: "You're almost there."
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Oct 2, 2021
Oct 2, 2021 at 3:11 AM UTC
Poem written at the back of the bus
I sit and look out the window at expensive houses and trees two seats just for me and the umbrella between my knees I do not anticipate rain anymore father sun, that face of God flashes a smile on a spot of the road where all lie shot in the chest by arrows of love from summer's bow, this cupid, dogs wag their tails in humid heat, someone spits out fruit pits. heavy clouds of thunder still linger in the humming air, filled with noise and Jesus' voice, whispering: "You're almost there."
marcogalvez
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Oct 2, 2021
Oct 2, 2021 at 3:11 AM UTC
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