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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 16

Definite Places

Half passed Kiev
and what was wasn’t
any longer. The night train
stands empty.
The skin around the wound
raw. The rain aloof.
The busy soil.

Like time
seeks freedom
from definite places
The last ticket
still holds
the inside hand.
Nameless and nubile

death pursues.
All vast intentions
cost more than
the cure - more than
the masquerading day.
The water in dreams
never drowns. But drags you

for miles.
And miles. Then,
embedded deeper than sin,
Acid flashbacks integrate.
The nebulous calls
for reckoning. The day
is now in progress.

  Mike Jurkovic