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    impressionist painting of arbor

    Poem: Rubbernecking

    By Sheryl Luna

    September 12, 2014
    • Steven V. Perez

      I am not a lover of poetry, or maybe that is becoming a past tense experience...thank you for words artfully forcing me to think from a fresh perspective.

    The art of the century is to hear
    sun through mulberry,
    small ball of white light centered
    in torn leaves. We are not
    biblical? Here in grounded
    in verse as children while
    the poor present alms to the poor,
    we are freedom finding itself.

    We have no answers.
    Some of us missed the broadcast
    to success. The neighborhood
    fills with unseen deep-throated
    robins. Remember
    what it means to be alone
    we say, disliking or loving
    mad streets, where the broken
    fearlessly ride buses.
    We cannot fix the contest
    outside, even if we
    rubberneck our way
    through accident and luck.

    impressionist painting of arbor Henri Martin, Pergola at the South Door of Marquayrol
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