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Tuesday, July 15, 2014

The Mob

My thoughts:
Raged and ragged voices,
yells, curses and cries
blending to one roar
in a narrow street.

What does it say when
that's all a soul has left?
The volume of air he can
take in and shove out--
hot breath, all volume,
no inflection or finesse.

Take them aside one
at a time, down an alley
or under a tree, into
a calm room, see each
for who and what he is,
have a talk.

Better yet, let the
silence be the bridges.

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