I'm Ready to Go
The jazz is okay. It's a little bit manic,
A little too much like the sidewalks
Below us which pulsate with uncounted
Ant-like pedestrians. Shopping was fun,
But it's wearied me, Chloe. Am I just too
Old or has life in the country done something
To hobble my once-limber legs? When I
Gaze out your window, I look past
The towers around us. I stare at the hills
Far away. Could you turn off that jazz,
And put on some kora to carry me into
The desert to sleep?
Poetry by Lawrence Beck

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Written on 2022-12-07 at 23:34




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