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Al
Poems
May 2019
Crosshatch
A broken hinge rests alone as freedom ripples in the wind. She stands tall beside the red tricycle, fenced in white and rusted green.
Snapshots fire sepia-toned memories. Farther down the road, where the crossroads hit the stop sign... phones lines cross the skies.
Written by
Al
M/UK
(M/UK)
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