a distant looming mushroom cloud
a scraping from the other room
her looking at me 'cross the floor
the feel of lips against mine pressed
embarrassment and laughter reigns
a terror calling in the night
to die and no one even care
a different kind of house and life
too late keep my child from harm
to go back when they were alive
to know I have no more a use
a life in dreams
There’s that great artist again. There is so much going on – in the poem too!
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