|
       
|
 |
John Doe Smith by Bohdan Yuri 2021-09-10 05:47:42 |
Print - Comment - Send to a Friend - More from this Author |
  
 |
Last night john doe was zipped, and lifted in his black plastic bag, the frozen stiff was finally moving to a new location on the other side.
everyone that passed his tired spot had recognized his shadowed slot, reclining, on a cardboard carpet, adrift in twilight’s senseless ride;
and on those frenzied crowded days when indifference stepped over his face, just a slight hitch in a pedestrian parade, for those born into busy escapades.
the next day’s music strained its play, a cold-shoulder tune arranged to forsake, heads turned looking for some traces that filled some empty ghostly spaces.
their discomfort was a taxing notion, complete, with an uncaring notation, explained, as just some torn out pages, indeed, how easy to fill their ego stages;
a real memory to replay, probably not, what’s the sense in caring delusions, besides, what’s his name was finally gone..., why bother to remember
john doe --- smith was his last name.
Ovi+Tidning Ovi+poetry Ovi_magazine Ovi Poetry |
|
Print - Comment - Send to a Friend - More from this Author |
|
|
|