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Taking it down.

I was fifteen, taking it all down.
My pen swiveled on pages warped
by the heat spilling in the bus window.
The words rumbled me like the seams
of the highway. All our moments passing,
fading, like the bulbs of streetlamps,
swallowed by the back of the bus.

Taking it down.

I was fifteen, taking it all down.
My pen swiveled on pages warped
by the heat spilling in the bus window.
The words rumbled me like the seams
of the highway. All our moments passing,
fading, like the bulbs of streetlamps,
swallowed by the back of the bus.

Ben Blumstein, 21

Mercer Island / Seattle

 
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