POETRY MARKET
Letters in crimson
distilled lyric
in laughter and tears
taste of fresh fruit
and fragrance of wet leaves
flying with the wind.
Over the counter poems
are the essence
of a lost language
in the ink of silence.
They don't beat,
but they sting and hurt
while the poet's eye
at the corner
like a knife of stone
waits for a buyer.
TERESINKA PEREIRA
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