Her voice is music. It sings to me in the
darkness and shines the light of Philly freedom
and cheese steaks piled high with shredded beef, green
peppers, onions and whatever else your heart
desires. The stairs to heaven are littered
with the corpses of fallen heroes who said
they could do and win what’s never been won, but
her sonic tone lifts me up high and carries
me into the sapphire sky, a sky so
blue it almost makes you want to weep with joy.
A sky with a yellow sun reflecting the
beams from outer space like in that movie ‘bout
the mummy and Brenden Fraser. What’s it called?
Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Where was I? Uh…


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