thoughts

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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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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A man, a plan, a cabal

Associate with the simpleLearn what tickles fanciesAmplify, in bellicose bellowWhip into a scripted frenzyLet loose the sheepwho think themselves lionsbut are infected with the surety of liesand the enfeeblement of reasonThen cull the herdto make them docile

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