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Aug 2014
Start out on benches
old,
Brown,
wooden.


then like sausages, we file
squish ourselves into metal skin
and sit in air-conditioned solace


Time pass slower
Moods get sharper
And sleep gets further away
the view from city streets
to run down houses,
homemade fences,
shipping yards,
more factories, of unholy God knows what
and finally mountains
bathed in sunlight and green trees.
Its a little boring but I was on on a long ride and I wrote this after writing three other poems so not as personal.
Maddy Byrne
Written by
Maddy Byrne  chicago
(chicago)   
9.9k
 
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