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Bus Terminal

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  • Bus Terminal

    Talking with a friend
    Downtown outside late at night
    Blur of passersby

    You don’t see what is
    Happening but someone takes
    The moments away

    You remember the smell the fumes
    Of the ugly brutes
    With hungry steel mouths
    Leaving in the middle of night
    From the Howard Street terminal in Detroit
    There part of your forgotten youth
    Was abjectly squandered on hard benches
    Waiting for a Greyhound

    While you waited for me
    Down south in Bloomington lonely
    As wheat heads
    Under the broken mills of the moon
    Reading Yesenin’s last poem written in blood

    How do we know which way is out
    I cannot help nonsense
    We are all reunited with our shoes
    Left to get there only on foot




  • #2
    Like this, the last 2 stanzas were particularly potent with beauty.
    Thanks for another one

    Comment


    • #3
      Wonderfully done Tanner. You frame the enigma with your words in a way that makes it real.

      Comment


      • #4
        That's wonderful! Love the last part!

        Comment


        • #5
          The poignant past,
          a blade that shivs
          ​​​​​​​the mind at last.

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