Across My Ribcage

fours benches in a rose
seats a maximum of one
the temperature is
licking twenty degrees
or more
a city park, crowded
i hear the sound of traffic
cracking concrete
there is a quartet
playing in the background
one blackbird, at least
and the silent thieving by
cloaked behind their
while this glorious heat
lies gently on my face
just gone three
and i feel free

By Paolo Michell


About pmisteil

Hi, my name is Paul though I write under other names like, Thatcher and Paolo, I love literature, art and architecture their passion and drama....the contradictions. The notion of Truth-who is the person behind the mask? Or does it matter! I like long walks and longer conversations over cappuccinos in a cafe with atmosphere and the rest is a journey!
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