“Poetry is play at its most utopian.” Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Teresa #43 Aug.12.2013

That Year,
I gave up cigarettes and God,
and the river rose higher than
the 100 year flood; we moved the
horses to higher ground but
lost the cattle all the same.
Blues On Whyte was carrying
on like it was the eighties again
with crazy wild music and the
Hell’s Angels cheering on the
Seniors in from Athabasca…
Rose petals littered the sidewalks


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