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John Grey

we have been thwarted by

the needs of the city:

can’t cross a street here,

can’t breathe the clean air there -

we covet a neighborhood

where cops don’t move us on

and we talk in terms of hen-house

milk-shed, stallion

but then the bus comes

or the street-cleaner rumbles by -

where is the shed snake skin on the backroad

or the tramp through green New England woods?

our breasts ache

for a more rarified place –


we walk single file

down crowded sidewalks

and trust the towers don’t fall.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review and Ellipsis. Latest books, “Covert” “Memory Outside The Head” and “Guest Of Myself” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Washington Square Review and Red Weather.

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