London Poem: Day 287

31 May

Fortune fell flat as the
American encounter handed out
Exactly what, in turn, we deserved.
Nothing substantial separates us
From the sea; from the soft lapping
Sound, and the cool tugging breeze.
But, until then, we’re mired
In the fascination with trauma,
And the ill-conceived
Self-destruction.
But, I can hear it, singing,
Knowing that I am returning to it.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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