poetry

Weird girl

She felt like a foot with uniform toes. Something to cover, but familial to her apartness. In her years, she picked up tools both shiny and showy, but of the wrong life. Fools’ gold, valued as real, was lost on her. Untrainable. Mulish, they said. Others of us knew differently.

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Temptress

A still pondpadded with liliesdappled with netted sunCicada humMy green restPlease-pocket the stoneand let it alone-I’ll paint youas someone sepiaand fleetingby this bower’s dome

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Shirt tales

Don’t commenton my dirty shirt,if you please.I am not inclinedto change it,lest I have bad luck again.This morning, the skyfavoured me with gull droppings.At lunch, it was blueberrieswithout a bib.Then, coffee,spilled by the infernal cat,who likes blueberries too.

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Unrequited

I fear I would be shyif you were to speak to me.I know.It’s not a good look.But I’m imprinted with your face.I know.Creepy, I imagine you think.Each mannerism, each quirky movement,tells a tantalizing storythat I am meant to understand.I am sure of it.Yes, I am.

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Out of our heads!

Nights at the round table!Spouts of hot teasloshed into cups of tiny china.Cards and clinking glasses,glinting toothy smiles!One nods offafter too many Jameson’s.Piggyback up the stairs,unfold him into bed, hah!Open a window, will you?What, tired already?It’s only two!

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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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Breakdown

I speak in tonguessometimes.Surely at night,in deep sleep,but now, of late,in broad day.Not literally, of course,or they’d send me to the bin.It started with watery voices,the makers of dream.We argued, for sport.But they’re no longer day blind,and I mimic their lies.

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