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A Stroll

By: Joe Meyers

On the street, in the night, Salazar wears ribbons.

His head held high beside leeching city rock

Pocked with eyes, vacant and grey, too dry to weep,

Trapped within fragile history

Leaning towards collapse,

Applause and memory.


The lives held there will drift further

Than all the dust carried upon all the winds

Carrying the phrase "Thank God".


Salazar hears shoes scuff and stumble,

A shadowed tap dance,

Steps recorded in dust,

And windows,

And old mannequin poses.


Some notice how light changes

As the blood congeals.

But where does it strive to flow?


To horizons fighting a heavy sunrise.

 Joe is a retired baker living on the shores of Flathead lake in Polson, Mt. He is a graduate of the University of Montana with a B.A. in English with an emphasis on creative writing. He's been published in Sunder Press and Eighteen Seventy magazine.

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