orgami's Diaryland Diary

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In the Wait Up End

stick ball number

the conja illusion

walking the dogs past the dead cat
carrion feeders
their tracks take shadows
from the overpass cut

thrasher creek
pouring from a currogated soul

im wrapped up in the burnt out glow
of leftover Love
sticking like candy wrappers
in a drawer

the cigarette in the snow
in its pool of ash
filling with snowflakes

like stars on a negative
thought

I stumble and catch myself
and the dogs never look back

pulling me along through
the trees rising like the
black smoke
the sky full
of a cold ghost

12:00 a.m. - 2012-12-28

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