Category: Poetry
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Identity
It’s an open question-“What are you?”Taking flight on wings of gossamerPeering between the starsIn the answer, a trapA thing of wires and springsSet about with choice morselsWill you be this today, or that?Now you’re caughtArguing with your own reflectionCasting flesh and bone against the bordersThat you chose for yourselfCounting hours like leavesAnd waiting on some…
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Disjunct
Bright sun in blue skyFrost upon the mouldDappled darkling dreaming bolesBreath that shows the coldLife and laughter lately heldA sighing wind unfurledBroken bitter baffled roadsTime on festoons curledFlame in weary torch aloftFoxfire at the gates of nightCurling creeping curtained mistA dream both hale and slight
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Apprehension
I suspected your purposes of being pitted and cracked or maybe faded like a handful of autumn leaves, tired of the world and its burdens. There’s beauty in such things, though little comfort. Imagine, then, my surprise upon finding that rather than being tired or broken or some glorious thing, instead you were simply dull.…