Poetry
ruminations at 5am Zach Yanowitz
as of late, the table on our front porch is missing a leg but is somehow still standing, ashtray full of cigarette butts that, for once, aren’t mine. the moon crosshatches the street, dappling milky light on the parked cars, the vague branches of trees. i cut my finger at work while slicing lemons, which seems almost cruel. citrus screaming a path through my veins the way my pen harries a page. let’s go get a drink. there’s this great place around the corner where the shadows relax and we’ll forget what we’re like. hey, hold my beer. i’ll be right back. it’s a clear night and i’ve built up a tolerance to stars.
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