Cadaverous

In the wrenching spell of nightmare, something cadaverous, phosphorescent on the forest floor. Bleached like a drowned man months missing. Current-carried, caught on some subterranean thing. Tell me it isn’t you. Tell me. Oh, my Son. My life.

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the cane mutiny

As we sat in stuffy waiting, you came by, lady with the cane. Regal in your latter years. And I had a flash dream, unreasoning. You in white apron and slippers, sounding your steps on creaky pine. Your support- a bannister with loose pickets. And you did not rely on it, did you?

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The familiar

Lie in it and when you want sleep seek permission through invention of position and if that’s too feeble then touch-type the words to Lucy sky diamonds or expert texpert choking smokers ah you got segments now wake up too soon too late carry on with fond regret of its absence

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By the Sea

I walked with Clarice today. There is a park bench by the beach. She wore a skirt with accordion pleats, An angora sweater, and real pearls. Her black shoes had round toes and straps. Like a doll’s. Her hair in Shirley Temple ringlets. They bounced when she skipped, and she did, twice. We didn’t hold […]

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Too little, too late?

It doesn’t matter now. What you say. What you do. If you cry, gnash teeth, rend clothing, wear ashes. There are no more new leaves to be turned over. A change of heart grows of its own, and not quickly. See, only a few will have seats in the parliament of planets.

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