Far Apart From The Years

Marbles,fingered in small boxes, /roll lazily past/a pair of roving eyes./Their hues cross mine, striking, in harum scarum glances. A bald waiter , in spectacles, serves up dinner/ to those of us who love to crowd/the banks on the sides of the avenue./Walloped by a great wave, /so boundless in strength,/to create volleys of words/a language, of only curses/ the swift and the strong don’t waver

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