Georgia

 

Georgia stole the drugs in the glovebox

and traded them for passage. I don't
remember Texas. I barely remember
you.



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Starward's picture

I like this kind of poem,

I like this kind of poem, succint and brief, and yet implying a huge, perhaps even complex, backstory.  It is so coincidental that you have posted this, as I was searching for an example just like this . . . and here I have one, from one of the finest of postpoems' poets.  Thanks muchly!


Starward

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