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caracallathe traffic noise

reverberates around the

high-ceilinged, many-

shuttered space of

roman hotels

battering your senses,

paying you back for

taking the cheaper room.

 

you swallow

a small tablet with

no message from god.

 

caracalla –

we stand and view

with longing

the barred gate beyond which

the wild roses grow,

the poppy-studded long grass,

the broken-down wall,

the overgrown path.

 

we may not pass.

 

PICTURE FROM http://vitruviusfootsteps.wordpress.com/.

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