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For Maja Rogic


Photo by Maja Rogic

Lost in the silence of a Friday night,
I dream; far, far away on wistful walls
you sit above the place the river falls,
below the bitter sunshine burning bright
where dancing girls once wanted dancing guys
to stay within their inner mind a while -
not caring for the flaring of the fires
their ancestors spun wildly into gyres.
Instead, you spend life waiting for a smile,
and better men than those that sold you lies.


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