The Man Who Speaks in Technicolor

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A Free Verse Poem

Dane Fogdall
Jun 8, 2022
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guitar strings home.

Past worn gates,

and autumn paths paved

with orange light, across

stone bridges and steel tracks

Through long and thunderous

nights where the stars were

canceled and there is only one

bit of lamplight on the horizon.

Beyond god’s front porch,

to the edge of the water.

You can hear them hum,

so listen and let them guide you.

Not home.

But where you need to be.

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