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Feb 2015
The Amstel. Christ.
Kilner jars full of fireflies
     on redbrick windowsills.
Hormone therapy. Jesus.
Angel boys from Europe
     trailing around behind me wondering -
and not caring - what the hell is in my pants.
Cold morning breezes
     on scarred chest tissue and needle puncture marks.
Rows and rows of bicycles
     and a fluttering pink scarf in the wind.
Roaring screams and sexless smiles
     cold split knuckles and nonchalant breath.
Theodore Bird
Written by
Theodore Bird  London
(London)   
1.8k
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