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PINE CONES

 

 
Four flights down
to smell old pine trees
Play football with
baseball-size pine cones
Sit on a pile of
fallen thin brown leafs
Look at the red warm plate
and a cold one
One on the other
horizon’s side
Take the hat off
and let the wind
Punch that bald spot of mine

Enjoy every fraction
of each second
Before filling
the barracks again
Where face hits the pillow
on a lower bunk
Where the heart wishes
for dreams
While ears listen to the
drill sergeant’s explicit orders
delivered over the intercom



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