Day Ten: No prompt for me, today.
The flight patterns
of falling stars
resemble the discarded
peels of bananas,
both in shape
and in the fact
that there is a good chance
you may slip.
Now a pile of books,
half-stacked as they
plummet to hardwood,
dropped
by the man
melting in his suit.
The product of a wish
or of old fruit?
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Mos Def, Got
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