On tiptoe

I lowered the eyes

from the aligned Matchbox cars on the shelve

and loosed myself on the floor, raising a Lego city.

Grandma built a tent, over tricycles, boxes and other stuff

and I crept into there over the red carpet, holding my plastic gunracket

after shooting the enemy under the bushsheets.

 

There’s a compression now

and it seems the enemy resisted

 

shootings persist

 

city and war

real, overnight

 

http://dversepoets.com/2013/02/07/mining-the-memory-dverse-poets-meeting-the-bar/

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