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Lost By Bike

August 18, 2014




I found a tower without its castle,

In a rose garden,

Through the crooked open door

Outside the porcelain museum.

For all the antique pleasantries and trimmings of the city up to it,

The tower emanated the plainest, blackest, silent tone

Like an immoveable thunderhead sitting amidst a summer concert.

It was a gathering place for crows

Who were making the only sound

Beyond its cascading silence

And the pittance of my bike wheels on the gravel road.


I found out today, it was just what it appeared to be.

Concrete and steel sealed blackness.

A surviving memorial to terror and loss.





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