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Sun comes up,
she goes down
on some upended main drag,
if i were an archaeologist
i still wouldn't dig this place,
every other day she dwells
in tedious, empty cafés,
but on the weekends she flashes
her "license and registration"
to oncoming traffic,
hoping for grifted furlough
to wear as silken, shiny beads,
and so we ride
this merry-go-round,
because moving in circles
is far better than being trapped in a square,
we've stopped climbing the calendar
in search of higher elevation,
she used to pour it on thick,
stirring drinks inside my head,
i used to shake
worries from her hair,
now with bitter orange marmalade
low in the sky, and stacked against us,
it's home before dark,
lest our eyes open wide to see
we are nothing more
but strangers at sundown.
Interrupted by my grandson with a telescope.
I think…
that never happened to many old men,
I feel,
special, y'know, like
I am and something like
this happened only because
I exist as this child imagines I am.
I am useless, unless I am
yet, after all,
Good at games grand father who knows stars
by name
and planets on planes intersecting our own.

_ I _ settle to see less sense intended than taken
as my reaction
results in a ripple
through time, to this place you imagine exists
as you read random lines
preforming perceptual preceptorial exploits
making peace
past all the battlefields imagined,
as legends go, we know the tropes,
all were digitized, the battles being refought result
in the same ever afters observers imagine.
No sane child can imagine studying war
no more moral interpretation
art implication
prepostper-full three decade dose of teleostic vision,
and unforgettable jingles
on the radio.
hit the road, Jack, jack of the lantern, lighter of lamps,
watcher in the night,
we have no need of warning,

we have drowned.

Goodnight Irene, goodnight
I'll see you in my dreams
------- farawayfaraway faraway
Sometimes I live in the country
Sometimes I live in town
Sometimes I have a great notion
To jump into the river and drown

see ya'round' sunshine.
Synchronicity of opportunity and poetic licentiousness.
Louise Gluck !
Louise Gluck!
You gave the
new dimensions
to world's
poetic outlook
Hope now world
will be more
attentive to poetry mystic
While poetic community
will write more humanistic
Congratulations to Nobel laureate poetess of  2020 Louise Gluck of USA
Calls who why what .
    Rings now in tones.
Cellular not line locked
Airy more .intrusively.
.gone times one
Listened in
To nature alone.
Most of all hearts longing-the
    .a hair studied her
Curling round
           , ears
And could it be we've
Lost something.
    was it ever ours?
I play zither well,

but I make a few mistakes –

then he looks at me.
“She plays the zither” (ca. 770, Li Duan)

Collection "Love Mind and Death"
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