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Jason Visconti has been writing poetry and fiction since he was 15
years old. Now 33 years old and attending writing workshops, he
still enjoys creating unique imagery in his work. He has been
published in various internet and print journals for both his poetry
and short stories.
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THE STOP SIGN
Murder at the streetlight rolls back its eyes,
the great stampede halts with blisters,
paint washed letters make the bikers ride at ease,
something sits on a post and sticks out its head,
the pinnacle captures a bird like a ray of scarlet light,
the word “Stop” is private like a sensual moment,
there is an ocean of things to be alerted to at once,
feel those sharp knives of wind,
that dreary day busting through the clouds,
those symmetrical sides of the stop sign that bore you awake,
the great imperative on the corner that reads like a book.
THE TRAIN
A rattling chain of cars grind through the tunnel of no light,
the conductor’s short breath enters in his small voice box,
the traffic lights watch and wink at just the right time,
this God of track skims the dungeon walls,
the flair of light flashes like July fourth fireworks,
the rats mapped their terrain in the long underpass,
the private company of passengers watch it all pass by,
the steely intestines of the machine pumps out smoke,
there’s the guttural instinct of the rounding turn,
the champion of the next station totes as the train crawls in again.
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