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The Evenings

Crumple and toss a piece of paper
repeat it many times

Resting a bit
and standing up

It falls from my fingers
and I look at my palms

I gaze at the stars sometimes
and the piano sonata moves me

Prodding along
following him


when the earth was a star
crumbling until it lost its shape
in the remainder of the tears (all gone)
the sand still stuck on its surface
I saw a little girl; asked me if I was okay

at the small of her back

scribbled the gibberish on my tricycle
that must be you wasn't you
I just asked her / that's all

Selected by JD for PoNE | from Number 1, June 2012 >> Table of Contents