Play Parks and Goal Posts

by davidchrzanowskipoetry

Life can be hard if you chase anomalies. Replace blood with grains of sand and salt from seas, bake yourself at 220 degrees between sheets of life and sleep. Children lose their sixth sense with every year that passes, until they become great cynics. I am losing all creative edge. So, I walk hill to valley, town to vale, between play parks and goal posts, racist graffiti laid over white paint; an unsavoury advert for a child’s eye.

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