Art, Poetry
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Wixey Bakery

I drive by it now

that year flickering off the tip
of a burnt out cigarette,

but my mind

my mind,
the wixey bakery,
the wixey bakery
a cake and you,


how a memory can be torn from us—

wrapped in ignorance—

They got a Reese’s cake that we bought

so many memories away from that day you
drove an hour down that thin line known as
Route 24.

You were lost in the slums of North Toledo,

locked in your dad’s black mustang,

so I found you and took you to my favorite place,

and filled you with cake.

And now that place is just a

Blurred image past in the rearview

And I have nothing.

This entry was posted in: Art, Poetry
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My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.

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