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Modern Art

She loved
broken things
like she loved
the petals
of withered roses,
that scattered
for their own funeral
like strewed confetti-
which a lover
may have dropped
unintentionally
or intentionally-
crushed
under branded shoes
and under the wheels
of the cars
driven 
by unsparing drivers
who aren’t troubled
by squeezing life
out of humans,
let alone a flower;
and she called it
‘modern art’.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017




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Date: 7/26/2017 12:00:00 PM
This is fantastic, welcome to poetrysoup.
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Date: 7/25/2017 5:09:00 PM
Interesting.
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Date: 7/25/2017 12:06:00 PM
Wow! A surprise ending. I really like your poem.
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