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Ghost of a Flea

September 13, 2015

onehundredandthirtyfive

Who are you?
Well.
I am Blue.
Glad.
To meet and make your acquaintance.
There’ll be nothing more.
You see.
I live a lot alone.
Why shouldn’t this be?
Who loves to lose?
Who’d want to win me?
I have one record.
One book.
And I repeat them endlessly.
Long, long, long.
Into the night.
They make me happy.
My book.
My record.
In the lamplight.
A space.
Where the missing part.
Is put in its place.
Joy and warmth.
A simple melody.
A spoken truth.
A boot stamping on a human face.
Forever.
As the sun begins to rise.
I lay my head.
Beneath a bare bulb.
Dream of the Earth.
Disgorging its dead.
A glut of decay.
Exploding into swarms.
As the world begins its day.
Beneath a bare sun.
May I ask.
Does it warm you?
What’s your name?
Mine is Blue.

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From → Poetry

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