Opus

he didn’t mean the smoke in my hand

pickpockets

in a crowded metro.

Speed-ticketed

 

or even in

the heart of it-

the bleeding heart of the

place that pioneered

my love legal-

 

Amsterdam taxi driver

spat in my face, a slur

of silent canals trickled down

cheeks and to the right of

 

the road.

 

by: Justin Kneeshaw

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