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Thursday, March 9, 2017

Poem- "Rural Arcade"

Light gun survival horror arcade game

Rural Arcade

The mountain is dead with a name from its animals.
Seconds have to be in growth for natural values.
Emotion comes out of my body I share with temporary wind.
Candles smell of food that leaves its universal home on correct aid.
Ice to cover these sounds will make love for my gift.
Something remains as its own dimension against this hunger.
Events turn into sounds which come from treasures that never live.
Meaning is in a vacuum that wears up its beginning.
I’m everything when unknown locations shut their doors to freedom.



*The phrase "rural arcade" should be taken fairly literally; "arcade" is an ancient term that's also modern.  It's not directly about videogames or warriors, but my local tale about those variable, aged tokens.



By gwaar (Flickr) [CC BY 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons
https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/79/Light_gun_survival_horror_arcade_game.jpg
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File%3ALight_gun_survival_horror_arcade_game.jpg

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