Throughout the city of neon bulbs,
Remains a league of killing memories.
Unspoken old memories
Still linger on the snow
That covers his half-written novel.
YOU ARE READING
the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
Kill them, or Write them?
Throughout the city of neon bulbs,
Remains a league of killing memories.
Unspoken old memories
Still linger on the snow
That covers his half-written novel.
