deepundergroundpoetry.com
Time Is Ten To Two
well I could have looked at my wrist
my mobile
chose to stare toward heavens
Sun, torturing my iris
soaking through'
the steel structure
holding it's unkempt
Roman
Numeral
facade
Distinguishing
between
venerable
rusted arms
and the
dust-grime-dirt
that
would need
only
face cleanser
on a sponge
[.]
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