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guy scutellaro
Poems
17h
///the cracks in the wall///small room, no window///
I rollover on the bed
face the wall
stare at the lines and cracks.
I give the wall a talking to,
tell me lies. I'll tell you my lies.
and i'm telling the wall,
the future looks bright. i'm planning
my own crazy, this time,
i use a black magic marker,
draw a wide rectangular
picture window across the white wall, then
sand, seashore, and sea stacks in the ocean.
can you smell the salt air?
i'm asking my wall.
don't look at me cracks,
like that.
the wall sighs,
and the bones of this old building
reply with a moan.
i'm inventing my own madness, so
look,
the sand pipers
are darting here and there
across the sand
avoiding the gentle lapping of the waves.
and the long wing shearwaters
flying low, gliding,
just barely above the tips of waves.
i'm planning my own foolishness.
some loves last for so long
like a song without a name
and you never know
when love will walk into a heart
and I'm going to run
far away
from sidewalk ledges
rooms with cracks in the wall,
far away from here.
and, Oh, wall, hang not the albatross around my neck.
Written by
guy scutellaro
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N
,
silent echo
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Nishu Mathur
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Nick Moore
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Mike Adam
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