• a.p. duvall

Eight Line Poem

There's these ashes and words

spilled together in upstairs bedrooms

beyond curves in total wonder

the lion is weeping

and the pup is tearing

up the records

and the scenery stares

like everyone else does.


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Golgatha in 25 km.

Twas 14th century China, and I was perched on my village's highest defense wall, looking out into the heavens on this one particular summer evening, when it happened to me. I was concentrating a parti


I walk alone every road I turn down Memories to burn never make a sound Your cigarette blowing in the breeze Memories to keep have left silently The losing cause found the reflection The thief escapes

There's Jizzum in My Optimism

Dreams die in the morning Dreams die in the fog Dreams die in daylight Dreams die every night Dreams die in your sheets Dreams die up on a wall Dreams die across the street Dreams die on the screen Wo

© 2020 by a.p. duvall.
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