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a poem by Anthony Liccione (1 of 2)


takes a lifetime
to get there,
sacrificing unstable
illusions for
concrete truths,
waiting for that
day to

pull the trigger
to time,
to the bottle,
to the time
in a bottle
that is an issue
in itself, or so
she says,
but i tell her
it buys me time;
i can escape
from the lease,

the leash pulled
tight around my neck,
those people i think
to trust, later
drag me to their
own discretion

so i let the drum
beat the guitar
string strum
the piano key
strike long
enough to bleed
the blood orange
birds to sing
in the last
morning sun,

© by Anthony Liccione
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #22 ~ July 2012    next poem