Spin This
blood grows cold at the sight
of suffering.my own and those
of others.
still holding my ears,closing
my eyes waiting for the gun
blasts to go away.
opening a cold window
to a cold street my cigar smoke
leaves my lips.
I follow the smoke as it filters
through the window screen
as an escaped convict waiting
for the wind to carry it free.
Copyright © Frank Penicaro | Year Posted 2011
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