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Pradip marks the slow disappearance of faces in the market,
unknown yet familiar and thus important to the senses,
for our eyes crave continuity, comfort reassuring that time,
even time that robber par excellent, still provides some comfort
to our souls, in its own way, even the faces of strangers in familiar places are road markers, bookmarks, that even the known unknown offer a measure of solace, as we traverse the old familiar places
of daily life.

it must be remedied. some of you know that I make not idle promises,
that my promises to be there are effected, for I am affected by the
repair of the world in little, measurable manners, so the iCal calendar
modified with a Visit Pradip++, a new addition…

and on the way there
are few more exotic places where poetry grows that
will require some
layover visitations…

only time in its theiving secretive ways stands between me and
you denied grasping arms, taking the measure physical of a
beating heart
and river-wide smile,
maybe even I’ll practice with a trip to
remote foreign places, which they speak
the languages of poetry too,
Snake River, even Iowa!

olp/n.n.
Paper faces and silicone smiles-
Where’d you get that mask, little girl?
Looks an awful lot like

me.
never quite at ease
wind in willow trees
goddess on her knees
please baby please

tired, things like these
Mr. Incredible, Mr. Freeze
life as long disease
rain in gentle breeze

           Rain!
you’ve been lying
dormant for
the past 2 years
a moth-like hiatus
in a love-like state
you worship
the tenets of
delayed gratification
in bite sized pieces

propagate wide open
my tiny heart
mourns for you
you're making a mole hill
out of a mountain
I am not fine-fitting.
Like I am filled to feel
I am gone free and fair.
and the gaseous flame fire
someone born to burn a burden
As in America, just a Biden
His word to the world is forbidden.
It will set the flame in the garden.
And the United Nations, fabrication home
I don't know if it is fictional or non-fiction.
when a goat grazes on Gaza
No one fed Gaza with Calabaza.
i believe in a gentle kind of love
all soft and soothing and
just right
when i am so terribly, irritatingly fragile
fingers running down my back while we lie
rib to rib, heart to heart
listening to the beat, and to the breath
and perhaps it is that, in this world of rough and tumble
of screaming and aching, to believe in a love kind and sweet is
a naivety but i find that
because of all this roaring outside our window, i much prefer
to think of that love sweet and kind
and us, tangled around each other, i think, yes

i find that i believe in a gentle sort of love
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