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The Communicator

The Communicator

Poetry By Eric Bayless-Hall

Strait Course Ceases
By Eric Bayless-Hall

Stories and stories
Of floors littered with stories.
Cardboard and plastic

Stories broken down,
Written in shattered windows.
Unreadable scripts.

Collapsed roofs, gutters
Pouring tires into a black
Street filled already,

Forcefully splashing
And spilling over the top,
Running down the glass.

Flight beyond these streets,
Blocking off back to downtown.
Blacking grey curbsides.

Textbooks, manuals,
Notebooks and diaries mixed
In concrete cocktails.

Libraries of rust,
Whose books’ pages hold traces
Still of blood and mold.

Street corner churches.
Fill your glass up with holy
Conduit water.

You shall not find out,
And you shall say god did it.
God has left the room.

Lacerated black
Keys. Natural notes only,
In archaic hymns.

How do you play the blues in C major?

Constant river flow,
Drink up while you’re still thirsty.
Fill your glasses now.

A gentle kiss placed
Upon the tributary,
Erie chills down your spine.

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Poetry By Eric Bayless-Hall