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Clothesline View of Brooklyn

Window viewing a wall knows no world other than brick square against nothing; laundry blows in the yellow tinged wind. Flaps mimic birds flying. Bras trapped by wooden pins, splintering. Grey points piercing smoldering dust and fiber on its way to the refuse below. A push from an unseen hot whisper of foul breath smashes it into a window viewing a wall.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019




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Date: 10/22/2019 6:25:00 PM
your poem brought back memories of the inner city
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Date: 10/22/2019 1:14:00 PM
Hello Laine Lubar, this poem makes me miss the clothes line. I liked to hang clothes outside to dry. Now just a memory. have a nice day my friend.
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Book: Reflection on the Important Things