Each place has a rhythm
and this rhythm
travels through
diagonally up the streets
whispers in my ear
down my neck
like its own band
we travel
and hear the corn coming off the husk
as musical notes
and the prayer sermons as drum beats
Each place has a rhythm
08 Jun
This entry was published on June 8, 2011 at 3:39 am and is filed under Poetry by Jessie.
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Lights in the Hand 