I am a barren port;
the litter after a parade;
I am an abandoned factory
and all panes broken out...
I have washed away the echo
of celebration;
I am the barrel shot
now long since smoked
Feathered in a tarry haze
Repeat to me that cursed phrase;
Shown upon to be a beast;
Looking back on a long days feast
And in my heart I can't abide
For in this squalor I cannot reside.
Alexander Pena
Copyright ©2002 Alexander Pena
written: Aug. 19, 2002
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