by Kim Doyle
River of thought,
river of rhyme,
river of time and emotion.
River of sound.
river that bounds and binds,
river at flood stage.
Take a page from a book
and float it down, it shines
like sunlight on water.
Too bright to look,
send the ashes,
that's all it took.
River in a hurry,
flowing, without worry,
rushing to the sea.
River rolling past me
and the Capital of idiocy.
Kim Doyle sits on the banks of the Potomac River in a small town just far enough away from any blast zones.
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