There may come a time when the rhymes
on these pixels
are forgotten and left to dust
when the cars in Cuba
even begin to rust
when the Great Wall of China
is barren and cold
summer is fresh
only in the tropics
and the world is sold.
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Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring...
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"Well...that was dramatic." I didn't know what he meant until I saw the ink spilled everywhere and the moths in her hair like ...