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I know no one will write for you
so I will do it

I wonder what you were like
as a child, adult, and mere babe

Were you like other girls
loving pretty things in life

Your manner of speaking
I'm sorry I've never heard it

But I wonder most of all
if you were desperate enough to walk
and end up like That

You probably weren't.
She watches me
as I illuminate her
head on the pillow,
still cornering the daylight
into the rear window.

She lays, outstretched,
filling the back seat of the car
with unwrapped thoughts,
too deep;
my rays can only reach so far.

Her sleepy eyelids blink
at me in question.
A suggestion?
I hide my face behind a cloud.
"'till soon," I whisper.
I'm only just a surface moon.
she knew then
the ways of this world

she knew then
of clenched fists

she knew then
her future
her place
her face, and all the weight that it carried

she knew then
of all the doors shut

she knew
she knew
she knew

of incomparable power

of beautiful strength

of divinity and all that is sacred

of wisdom and benevolence

she knew
she knows
we know


so she straightened her crown and rose
at this rate we die
beheaded by the second hand
nervous tick of hours
The cool aquamarine water
ripples

as it kisses the skin
and we move like fish

fumbling

in self-induced darkness
to the cadence

Marco
Polo

accidents
collisions

as well as serendipitous
discovery

whit howland Β© 2021
An impressionistic word painting.
Hush the little voices
In the whispering wind
That subtle new horizon
Where it ends and then begins
It’s an optical illusion
That stares into the gloom
Standing very patiently
Waiting on the moon
There were days
I remembered
To put my heart on my sleeve.

The other days
I hid it
So deep inside my body
I couldn’t find it for myself.

The terror of anyone finding
Me judging me
Seemed to linger in the air
I inhaled.
It’s not really clear
through smoke
and stale beer
the reason
we’re here is
β€˜cause
dopamine steers…
Traveler 🧳
I am well practiced in the art of heartache
Fluent in the language of grief
Versed in the routine of melancholy

I walk through this life marred by loss

Each day representing my triumphant victory over every obstacle existence has thrown at me
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