Harley
H
Herbert Nehrlich
0
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Only in the gray
twilight of a dream
was I allowed
to run
my eager hand
up from your fibula
alongside the
iliotibial ligament
into the
symphysis.
Surprised
to find
a clearing
without forest.
At that precise
and crucial time
in history
the Harley started up
down memory lane.
Like every morning
that belligerent machine
it woke me,
bringing to
untimely end
a perfect dream.
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