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Stay near, but watch your step.
I am old in weeks, yet strong in numbers.
You and I aren't that different.
I have veins, and skin. I am rooted,
as a ship in the harbor, to where I
plan on staying. It's been hard lately...
Many friends have made the long trip
down. Sometimes, meeting death near home,
sometimes the gusts of fate carry friends,
like Franklin, far out of sight. I feel like
I'm near my end. I look down and smile,
on a calm autumn evening,
as I snap and fall free to the reunion pile below.
I can't believe this is happening...
What reason can come from this?
I cannot marry her...
My bride has betrayed me.
She has milked this secret for long enough...
It didn't slip out, it barged into the field:
A runaway horse, bucking and snorting.
How could she...
She was my life...My healer...
Now, bruised with heart bleeding,
I confront her by getting in my car
and leave the venue.
She doesn't need me. She has Dave.
She'll be fine.
Home is in the middle.  
In my youth, I climbed the trees there,
I walked and played with my finest friends.

Weary with the weight of my kin,
the trees sway in the open breeze.
Almost as to sing me

home.

Recently, I took my love home.

In the clear of night,
on our backs - gazing into the
deeps of stars and nothings.

Looking at everything.

A tear runs down past my ear,
and I realize...

I was never home
until now.
I.       Standing on the peak of a tsunami wave,
         all I can think is
         that I'm dreaming.

II.      I was three-legged,
          like a stool,
          sitting atop my dream.

III.     I fell from the sky into
          an ocean vortex
          which, dreaming, was simple.

IV.     I saw my love, who died last year.
          She and I are together as I dream.

V.      My dream paints a ****** mess,
          and the heaven I do not know.
          I cannot say what is more beautiful...

VI.     Sitting in a log cabin by the frozen lake,
          a bird flew in and sat on my knee.
          I asked him his name. "Dream," he said.

VII.    In the wheat field,
           I stand with all of my family.
           All family is all I have ever
           dreamed of.

VIII.   She told him his accent
           was dreamy.
           I have heard her with his accent
           in my dream.

IX.      I woke up refreshed,
           and my dream fluttered away
           with the flock
           of my neighbors'.

X.        When I realize I'm in a dream
            I'm horrified with pleasure,
            and corrupted by fantasy.

XI.       I was sitting on the beach,
            and I thought my hero was
            walking my way.
            I got up and ran to her,
            but she was my childhood friend...

XII.      I don't feel fear.
            I must be asleep...

XIII.     I lay next to the woman I love,
             holding her hand, sleeping.
             I awaken from my nap
             as she phones me from Italy.
This is an imitation poem in the style of "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird," by Wallace Stevens.
In high school, I didn't
have much luck with girls;
but I always have been
brave. One day, a friend
suggested I ask this
jewish girl ​out - that is -
to be my girlfriend. She
was cute and athletic,
and I had courage. I
simply walked up to her,
and asked.
I don't remember thinking
much of it - I just walked up
and opened my mouth.
Something I don't
understand about girls
is how they sometimes
already know what's coming.
She gave me a reassuring
countenance, and I went back
to being alone.
I had a lot to learn
about wooing.

She said no.

I just wish I didn't
trip and fall down
right before
I asked her.
Next to sorghum cane
I dance with my love
              and look up.

The autumnal breeze
             Pushes her into my chest a little.
We giggle softly.
            Our eyes sway romantically in unison,
                                       and I remember
                                         what's happening above us.
                                                   I point up.
                                                   She looks
                                                   and I feel her heart flutter.
                                    The midnight sky
                                    is blanketed in comets
                                                        with fire tails
                                                   igniting the River of Heaven.
And, when she turns around for another embrace,
             for a second
                           she can't find me.
                           But, that's only because
                                        I'm in the dirt and leaves
                                        on one knee.
This poem is an imitation in the style of "In Cold Storm Light," by Lesie Marmon Silko.
Tecumseh's
obsolete
                who once
                pillaged and bent iron
                                                    railroad tracks
and scorched onetwothreefourfive citiesforfreedomsake
                                                                                              Jesus
must have been in that army
                                                and all i need to know is
why you didn't run to the sea
Mister Sherman
This poem is an imitation in the style of "Buffalo Bill's" by E.E. Cummings
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