Sunday, April 12, 2015

6599. TOKEN

TOKEN
I've got a token taste of Death still in my
mouth  -  I absorb what I can for the living.
At this late date, in this small place, at this
remedied table, this coffee tastes like cocoa,
and I can't tell a thing. I've lost it all  -  in
thin, empty envelopes which no one has
stamped and the postman won't deliver.
-
The girl comes in, gives me a once-over while
I give her a twice. It's like that in this beleaguered
land. I search for them as they search for me :
blind submarines, both lost in the sea.

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