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Copyright: Fred Robel, and Fritz365 2010-2017. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Fred Robel and Fritz365 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Sunday, June 26, 2016

Afterparty

Two steps forward
Towards the fire
Towards the light
Burnt rubber toe tips
Accompany a hasty retreat
Of a one step backwards beat

The smell hangs like a passing skunk
Up up nostrils and nose
Past the first knuckle's reach
No hopes of getting it out
Not even with bleach

Cheap gumsole sneakers
Leaving inexpensive footprints
In the mud all the way to the car
Altogether looking like a stock footage scene
From a far off undeclared war

Fumbling in dirty pockets
For keys that hung from the visor
Directly in front of far off eyes
A deep sigh as metal slides into place
Actions causing a hesitating mechanical mayhem

Random sparks
Preignition

Would you know it was me
When I turned the corner onto our street?
Slipping the clutch
Matching broken synced straight cut gears
Clattering plates
Stressing springs
Flexing the driveshaft
Flying to you on rusty wings