is running out
from harpoon harry's
tables
on to caroline street
long after caroline
left
without being noticed
and
where
the
handsvoices
rhythms
choose
so springs
every tune of the earth
deserts & stars
hard-knock blues
colors of reggae
a previous life
is always close by
long
before officialdom
&
hollow authorityfoolishly cast
their caste
of street rules
ignored with perfect pitch
every note
a story
---
e b bortz
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