Untaped Poem by Jerry Pike

Untaped



We meet through rising sea-breath.
Alike but strangers,
sharing these minutes,
you might know me?
Your green, my green,
your eyes, my eyes.
The atmosphere a holiday,
its vendetta
playing back mental tapes,
and just as the record head touches,
a gull screams,
and you are deleted.

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Jerry Pike

Jerry Pike

Harrow, London, England
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