Wolf Eberhardt
1 min readApr 19, 2020

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Last night I
Drove forty minutes
Not to see you but
The spot where we exchanged each other
Like a serial killer
Returning to the vector of change
A dent in the fabric
In it I lay
For a small stretch of time
Nestled
I drove back slowly afterwards
Finding solace in the red light islands
The man smoking a cigarette on his porch
The smooth turn of the wheel
And our next encounter

Unlisted

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Wolf Eberhardt

Poet; Embellisher; Long Islander; The so-called editor of Iceberg's Poetry; Aspiring absurd hero.