Edwin Cordero


Wistful


We're numb to those scorned homes
Within this dome that condones
Their destruction.
They're strung at the brink of forlorn zones;
Writhing clones to diagnose
Without action.
We're occupied adorning pink floors, doors, and phones—
Preferring to be alone and shown
Wistful abstractions.

Submitted: Monday, December 31, 2012
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