My hearts
it’s a dark night
I have lost my way
translating into Italian
trees slap against a window
nearing the end of middle age
imaginable hardships beckon
fasciste streetcars dulce et decorum est
but fuck it it’s all Spring now
memory candles prosthetics
rhyme wobbles with laundry
expression will be blessed
she’s merely asking
for directions
your Dante.
© 2013 Rob Schackne
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