Interval
The Interval
I drank a city, the smells , the debts,
the clouds of shutting doors and shuttered
widows (and widowers)
their new TV’S, the dream drug
that takes away your mind,
your place:
some police look at you like your about
to die, or something like that
and I return to the interval ( a Beckett play ?)
I wait for the clouds and the
shuttered cast to pass by
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