MY POINT

It was a drama unfolding,

an energy of words on the

attack, like a fountain of

urchins catapulting in air

creating and irregular sky.

Abstract people shapes resembled

stick drawings waving hands

and arms like newspapers going

aloft; creatures of thought,

working the stream.  There was

no refuge from the granite

of opinions, as the past

breaks over the heads in an

attempt to dismantle the future,

while hoping to gain the gift

of winning.

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