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A city called poem

Our mongrel hearts are born inside the sun

yet the pleasures of solitude are greater

i engulf ten leisures of life, in a bar

then think this, your attire enough to make me sane

then insane enough for your limbs, transforming

regardless of life or the prices of love & whiskey

 

I am these days as i work in an office

where the birds pour & pour

or near a Pluto named fire

my head glows redder than my dog's tongue

since all religions are made by flesh

and the only one i see is yours.

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Written by
Renemutume
Published
Jan 3, 2016
Lines·Words
12·96
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