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poetry

Tin Foil Wreck

By July 23, 2009No Comments

Slide open my bathroom window framing a far- off freeway.

Clear sleep from crusty eyes.

Three am.

Suburbs still

except for the sound of just woken hounds

machinery sawing metal

moans from the interior of mangled cars.

Medics and firemen

all hands on deck

Sirens respectfully on silent

still winking blue and red

proceeding with the procedure

cutting limb from carnage

life from crumpled tin- foil wreck.

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