What kind of country

The fiery street is

A gas main

A missle strike

A self immolation

A burning effigy

A suicide bomb

A championship win

A place to warm your hands

     on a cold night.

Smoke in your eyes.

Turn away, see yourself

      in the oily sheen.

Sparks rise like souls,

      fly like angels 

            star bound.

 

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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