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taylor roff Nov 2011
my ears are *****
my fingers are *******(   with the purist of intentions   )
there is a bus in the lane next to me
as i come closer and closer
i notice the amsterdamn read lights
and i think to myself
(i wonder how much that bus driver would charge me for a ****)
she looks old and faded
crusty crumbling eye lids
held up by small sticks
made from the bones of huming bird wings
fashoned together by tiny men
in the face of the man in the moon
Michael John Jun 2023
and yet why not
was a bar on ios
called why not..
there was also
the far out,
(i imagine they are
still there..)
the far out, was
a place where americans
met americans they had
met in amsterdamn ,
berlin or venice..
there were london gangsters
stranded and dangerous..
we plied our trade upon the steps
of the far out and bruce springsteen
played day in and day out as
the wind blew..
******* women cut hair in
the gentle surf and the young
frats had their pictures taken..
the scandanavians had the best
tans and most of the money..


we lived in a donkey hut in the hills
overlooking the harbour
where the sun set
amidst hustlers and go-go
dancers..
the ferries came and went..
one bus to the village and
another down to the beach-
down the road was the
my way..

in the village there was bar
after bar
a disco near a windmill
retsina and souvlaki
people packed into
squares
i wonder now what we
said..
now and again
someone who lived there..

— The End —