the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Saturday, January 2, 2010


For all I'm concerned,
We are crowded by ghosts.
We host them and boast
Of the prettiest roses
That we march down the streets,
A fragrant infantry,
Armed with pedals and thorns
That drive in the foreign-born.
They party before parting,
Making trash while getting trashed.
And then it all passes
Before I have mine to say
That traffic and roadblocks are
Not making my day.
...Turn before it closes!
Thanks, Tournament of Roses...

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