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On the run

Carbon dioxid
in your footsteps
following you...
into the thomb.
Street musicans,
you didn't listen
to their tears.
The sun was there,
but you didn't get time,
born in the rush-hour.
Your feet are beaten up,
and your patience's on fire.
Your old, outworn shoes're for hire.



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[an error occurred while processing this directive] Poetry by Kenneth Sorensen
Dikt av poeten Kenneth Sørensen