Dickinson Square Park

Dickinson Square Park

Alone again;

   although, a

         little less lonely.

             Let it be known:

                  I’m sick of the same old clothes,

                        and smashed bottles, on

                             the sidewalks for sale.


 Forget national flags and pastimes.

          I wasn’t surprised when I saw her;

                  at Dickinson Square Park, our eyes met,

                        instant familiarity,

                                we marched forward with no regrets.

                                       Amy had pale blue eyes. (Really, she did.)

                                              Her thoughts were heavy.

                                                      She knew things like night lights and stop signs,

                                                               were signals from the dead who lived in past times.

                                                                            I thought she was right, alright?

                                                                                       But then again:

My thoughts were not sweet lolliPOPs!


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