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Developing a new style of poetry.

The Man With The New Guitar

006e25d5f93c5908e9295c648d9e7d94by Stefon Napier07 Aug 2013

We took a seat in an aisle not far from the stage which was closed for the moment but that something with a great enormity was poised beyond the curtain was not lost on the skin just above our hearts. All day we might have died from the pale blindness over our ears and the noisy purses that accompanied rich men on different avenues where gold and silver held incest. This night, as all nights should be, is built on something greater than promises and hopes which are always balanced on the edges of colossal nightmares. Within the frames of my eyes there is a silk fabric rising to reveal a man who is just as unsure as me about the uncertainty of the next minutes but even to a person that is seldom seen if not for the tones of his voice which are low and have sex nightly with the strings of a tender guitar that is brown plus golden. Intrigued by temptation I watch.