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This is home

Room full of boxes
still unpacked these ten years
don’t touch my stuff
cat hair infests the air
its filaments float
electrified in the sunrays
will we have them shaved?
clean the furnace filter
shall we save the small carpets that it yields?
nice leather sofa
all shabbiness now
will we outlaw the claws?
violations of perceived personal space
sometimes we snarl, say sorry (sometime)
fumes of flatulence
a Biblical stench in the nostrils
we don’t say sorry
it’s supposed to be funny
separate bedrooms now
she snores so sonorously
I must wear the air mask
Darth Vader, get away she says
she works, I write and play
we go to stores to buy things we do not need
just to have a change
and walk together
we know, I think, everything that can be known
about another person
and we can glean the rest in secret sighs.
This, says an old song,
is the stuff that dreams are made of.

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Lee Dunn View All

Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.

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