5 September 2010

it is not July 5th like my calender claims

it is not kissing weather

it is not night with his bold impenetrable moon

it is not as warm as I imagined

it is not broken, this bicycle of mine

it is not a dance

it is not french

it is not a typewriter tapping out letters or a piano learning song

it is not paved or straight

it is not home

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