This park closed hours ago. And everyone has since
Disappeared behind the curtaining ripples of voting booths.
Even now, aimless and undecided, I imagine the tepid poetry
Of reason. The sensations flee.
An evening purse of birds and blackened greenery slouches--
It is yawning, as it prepares to sleep.
In Memoriam:: George A. Romero - It’s a pretty good bet that I’m going to spend the entire day thinking about GEORGE A. ROMERO and the better part of the evening watching his remarkable, g...
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