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2 50%
A Day At The Park
2 50%
Voters: 4.

The jagged moonlight glistens,
a pip floating among the grape's dark fluid.
Languid in the twilight
it weaves through the tranquil shadows,
whilst snow
drops slowly from the torrid cigarette,
melodiously descending in irregular spirals.
feeble flurries of wind pick up
seeming to stretch the shadows,
ever so slightly


A Day At The Park, formerly:
Flogging a dead-horse

Fountains reach; some high,
some low -
don't be mistaken though,
their aspirations are the same -
after all it is dictated by us,
and we all want to be a poet.

Do you realise what you kill with every step...
is it worth the walk in the long run?
We govern where urban trees live.
Some die, some become your resting place.
-- I meant to sit --
We call pigeons pests,
they call us tyrannous - "Although,
we like the fountains. Thanks"

-- I thought I'd mention --
You don't yet know I wrote this twice,
the first, was stolen; by wind
by block. It's only now,
past tense and all that..
I have something to write about.
I guess it's punishment
for breaking a kids stick in two
so his friend could play too.
His friend didn't want to play.
-- So they cried, at me --

After that, my good deed for the day
was to put my cigarette out on my palm,
that way I single-handedly
saved the climate.
Yet still, I found the need to breathe,
and thus killed it that tiny bit more.

So I lit another cigarette,
sat down again and thought,
what would Bukowski say?
Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.
I've given up since I wrote that piece back in may. Trust me Israel is the worst place to quit, they smoke on TV, they smoke in bars, they smoke in the street. I find myself running into clouds as people exhale just to make it through the day.

I need a cigarette.

Filth, pure filth... That's what you are.
See in Canada we've practically turned smokers into lepers, so there's no temptation here.