ageing

The thin cat thinks

All bony and moany, on hollow stilts he walks, stumbling to a slow pause. With dimming lamps he scans the dumbness of air, then cries at the memory of the hunt. The plates of his shoulders stretch his sparse skin, and pepper spots remember lost whiskers.

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Spirits

I’m seeing more somethingsin the sighing airDistances to dramas,beatific in their flash,are shortened.Though I once feared the fear,lungs of sponge breathe it in,baptizing its fire,and I am well.I am well.

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The road is long

In fable days I took a dare to try the mortal maze They shut the door when I went in to walk its narrow ways I felt a fool and out of school unlearned in errantry and suffered doubt and went without a thought of parentry The road is long I sing a song in […]

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On my way

In a while, maybe, I will not know you. Don’t cry or be afraid when you do not know me. There’s a short story yet to be told, and it begins its writing, protected by pillows. Even as I stand over a tiled drain, I make the water hotter. That spinal rush. That warming touch.

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A hand taken

Trickle-down drops and slowed lightning speak to me of pathways. Oh, I know that practice makes perfect. Must I learn, once again, what was glossed over too quickly? Numbers and Deuteronomy taught me that details are not bedeviled. Now, I pay attention without training wheels.

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A moment more

I want to hear a snatch of all the songs ever sung. The gong of all the bells ever rung. I want to see, smell, taste the flowing rains that have spattered on the canvas tops of wagons and the oaken decks of rolling ships. Please give me but a while longer before we lay […]

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Time for sleep

I cry inside. I see the sky in robin’s egg blue. Things of old have turned to gold, unglittering. An alchemy, an accretion, to life’s masterpiece. I fear I’m being asked to sign my name. There are nodding heads, prayerful hands. But, layered sheets of sleep settle upon me. Soon.

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The names we pin

Be not offended If I don’t remember what you told me. Or if I tell you something for the second or third time. I need a good defragging, And, now that we are all homebodies, It’s excusable to forget what day it is. The names we pin, The borders we mark On borrowed continents.

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Foreigners

If you would, talk some sense into me. Or, just talk some sense. I am in short supply, you see. I have broad and muscled shoulders from clenching the etched-in tension. A hard head with a coconut brain to unveil the dumb mornings. Those that move in this captivity are bound to me, but we […]

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