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Southern Belle (One Thousand Pesetas)

February 20, 2014

onehundredandnineteen

I’m your flid.
And you’re momma’s medicine.
And I can’t help.
But feel like helping.
On the streets of Dublin city.
You were my coin.
In Arthur’s basin.
And you’re.
Five foot nowt.
In your stocking feet.
And I’m beat.
And blue.
How can I still write.
All these songs.
Knowing.
That now they’re true?
Like a kitten.
On a cord.
Of cotton yarn.
So help me, God.
You’ve made me write.
Such bilge.
Razed edge.
Silly, soppy.
But burst above.
And lighted.
Dirty water.
Fireworks lit.
Beside the Liffey.
Now.
I’m a part of you.
And you’re a part of me.
A scar that tells them.
Where we’ve been.
A pretty.
Perfect.
Lightning tree.

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From → Poetry

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