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a low hum like a mouthful
of bees. my love, she sings
like static dives. still, wing
-less and stingless i grab
my net. this apiary is no
home for honey nor sleep.
the french call the ****** 'the
little death' but what about the
sunset over the foxgloves? alm

ost diluted isnt it i suppose the
constant cycling of day to night
today is the day im gonna shed

some atoms to her i dont mind
dying a little bit per day if it me
ans more ******* and sunsets
last night i wrote 'luck is the duck'.
i think i was wrong though;
see, 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒊𝒅𝒆. it folds up the socks
of the beach and blesses it with a kiss.

we, the duck, ebb and flow on
the waves; eyes glazed and dazed
from kismet riptides. you can't sail
luck, but you can sure as hell surf it.

i'll see ya on the beach.
more on yesterday.
luck is the duck astride the tide;
the flow between the day and night

sink or drink the musk of dusk-
you wait on luck to save your husk
some quick rhymes before bed. maybe part of something bigger? don't count on it though.
clicks like an ice cube clattering
off her teeth. my love, she talks
like a cipher spins. still, ringless
and moonless she hangs there
like an invitation; some bootless
rocketship i fancy myself to be.
end with music like a winestain
wrap a shoulder in reflux dig ur
talkn from ur throat its no good

its question time for the dreamers
is there really such thing as cheez
or is it just some joke im not in on

untuc ur shirt like u walk a churchgoer
whip nocturns back like a duvet o pluto
u infest stronomic beds like bredcrums
exploring nonsense. not that u don't know that.
oh! despair is a soft orange glow cast
-ing shadows on my throat and i think
i might just ride the sunflares to dusk.
remember me when you see a red sky.
not the usual whimsy i must admit.
 Dec 2024 Claire Hanratty
matt r
some guy. some man to find
his, as the old veteran put it
, "special lady" or something.
we're made of the same old
stuff, you & i. the very cotton
that binds us to our shoes and
our shoes to pavement and
the pavement to the sky. in
-verse the slant on what it
means to know how someone
looks after waking up in the
morning. how you feel when
you realise you've been sleep
-ing on a bed of fries and
burger lettuce. when you
accidentally box their nose
blue. you, some cosmic com
panion you turned out to be.
a digital ode to a very good friend of mine.
 Dec 2024 Claire Hanratty
matt r
i passed 13 pigeons on my way
to the café. is it corny to hope
someone happened to spread
more breadcrumbs than usual?
crossing under the bridge my
wet shoes left psalms upon the
staircase opposite the pub we
drank in two days ago. we talked
about carol & vivian maier and i
felt the wind. wind like atom fin
-gers wrenched the door open
and ran themselves across the
table up my arms and down my
shirt right through the neck-hole.
wind like knees to a chest, maybe.
good luck on your travels !
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