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Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Poem for voting day



Fear-tinted  faces flow

along the flute of glass,

depart and return

with subtle hue and cry

in the red voicing

a spider would web your mind:

prisons rise and fall.

Trapped in a trumpet

an idea tries to flee

a monotone of agency,

a failure born when

in the red voicing

a bullet would blow your mind:

matters fall and rise

behind a mirror of class

star and bar whisper

a lie birthed again

on flag-squared mappings

in the red voicing

a demon could eat your mind:

a piece of air survives.

Tell. Advise.

Jerry W. Ward, Jr.

October 4, 2016

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