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UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY
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ANTHONY LICCIONE sense of freedom drinking beer while steak is sizzling, and the sunset simmering in the grill of streaked clouds, this is my freedom in the backyard, after I put in a hard days work for a dying paycheck, stacking the bills I retrieved from the mailbox on the computer desk again, the boss how he last walked past me brushing shoulders, like numbers that never get reached, and not knowing me by name, this is freedom to me as the beer intoxicates the war within as mr. crowley’s skinny dog behind continuously barks at me through the wood-rib fence, as the gun is loaded and hid under the bed, as the man four houses down is yelling at his wife to put clothes on and take clothes off the clothesline, where this grass grows is mine, this piece of land mine, this old framed house mine, this piece of mind mine, but the freedom attached, will never be mine, I just borrow it from time to time, to give me a sense to know I bleed, breath cry and die, isn’t this the human way? Anthony Liccione lives in Texas with his two children. His poems have appeared in several print and online journals and he has four collections of poetry books that go unread. |
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