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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=548903" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Common Courtesy</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">What does my heart feel like now; <br>But it feels like a long poem wanting more the<br>Poisons of my muses of putrescent Janus; <br>Looking both ways from the doorways of these<br>Awful purple valves, <br>While there are little keyholes of vision, <br>Then the crickets and golf balls, and the wickedness<br>Of water-breathing reptiles in the tall grasses of<br>Head-shaven cannibals: <br>I awakened this day of my third decade and asked a<br>Girl out for the first time, <br>And she said she couldn’t because she said she was<br>Not mine; <br>I asked a girl out for the first and for the last time, <br>And the candles melted under the pillow of unanswered <br>Virgins, <br>And I slouched off to the sea alone in my diesel truck <br>With the amphibian airplanes leaping above the ankles of<br>These almost vanished Titans; <br>And I thought of my muses, but paid to be laid by a little<br>Ballerina in the marmalade shade; <br>And it was so wonderful, and it was almost surreal for a<br>Second to lie to myself and to almost believe in the<br>Statues franchising in this dusk, <br>That I wasn’t a man so alone that it was just a common <br>Courtesy to fail.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Bret+R.+Crabrooke">Bret R. Crabrooke</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=548903" data-title="Common Courtesy de Bret R. Crabrooke" data-description="What does my heart feel like now; But it feels like a long poem wanting more the Poisons of my muses of putrescent Janus; Looking both ways from the doorways of these Awful purple valves, While there are little keyholes of vision, Then the cri..."></div> </div> </div>
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