tasseled dancing past,
bare-ankled, holding fast
to windswept providence.
I'd take the sweet relief
of a lone shady tree,
head resting, bold and sultry,
to sing me to sleep.
In these steel cities
the only poetry's
spit out from factories'
rusting machinery.
And it's all the same,
just like the dated graves
whose forgotten surnames
simply fade away.
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