Revisitations V
by Graham Myres

Hold my eyes closed, resolve my hands, and the fate of my cheeks which
accept the overturned beetles of death, and the
Laughter of the sun.

The substance of frustration, being limp, time and the joints of the past.

I touched a stare,
it looked back as a tear.

Stoicly laughing at listening faces...smoke

...carefully at 17, rue Beautrically.

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