Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Build it and they'll come

Eyes on her mobile phone miss buddha smiles
See now
On tired straight frowning angular necks
Faces of surprise
Was it a fox in the wagon
Happy as a tiger handing its paw
For real
Taking a mental ride through bookshelves
My reader pretends and protests
My time I can't get change for it
My mother yawns in colours
She imagines the forum
We the quorum
For less than a democracy
We'll speak when we reach home on the last train
Or never 

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