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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 09-June 19:48:55 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 5281
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => Phoenixes of Manhattan
[time] => 2002-10-19 06:15:00
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => The concrete laps
onto my Kenneth Coles’, Icy, biting water, as I pose with the others, merely a variable in a vicious function: mannequins, denying empathy. We have discovered that as amoeba, we are free. Yellow taxies surge as tuna driving for the womb, as we clatter like plastic cups in a tin box. While the subway penetrates the tunnel, momentarily we are primal. Into a song of night: the tribal drums and yellow star ahead. (I can see the doctor's fingers searching in the African sky) Reborn, we are the phoenixes of Manhattan. One boy speaks "Did you feel that?" And we begin to disrobe, leaving our skins like gum wrappers on a curb. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 173 [topic] => 8 [informant] => matlock [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 12 [ratings] => 3 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => AmericanTragedy )
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