the rix mix

Rattling fan blowing in
an August night I am using
poorly. Somewhere else
the bells & sirens of a
boardwalk arcade,
little boats circling a pool,
a small train whistles
rounding the bend
toward funnel cakes,
smile for the camera.

They scream falling from the moon,
flashing wheels,
belts & gears,
this house is haunted.
Search the darkness
& there is the ocean.

Labels: boardwalks, jersey shore, poem

# posted by Bob : 3:48 AM

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