Thread bare pockets

I didn’t get off on
Those Blurred signs racing blues lines
The copiously racing pulse of the
Golden goose steeple chasers
often found frequenting the house of
A meaningful weekend.

Now a forgotten empty street
View finder memory’s
Flooding the impressionist’s senses.

short shadows chased down
A long street of tills emptying
Out the thread bare pockets.

Of twenty four folded at seven
Beats per minute Time travelling
recollections of a jive a picture
I must of seen On this line.

now a forgotten empty street
A View finder memory’s
flooding the impressionist’s senses.

Kings cards broken glasses false starts
Chasing green dragons
a refraction of half lights
And half truths.

Now a forgotten empty street
A view finder memory’s
Flooding the impressionist’s sense.

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