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Being lonely
He beats the gong again
The guard of kabiya.

        * kabiya: cabin in which kabi (fire to frighten noxious animals like stags and wild boars) is made in autumn.
Today I opened my mouth too wide
And swallowed a cluster of tiny flies
Now they are growing fast inside
I feel them swelling, swimming around
What if they grow too large, what if they multiply
I can't fight them when they're shielded
They laugh deep echoes, mocking me
What are you eating inside there
Food no longer fills me, stomach's always empty
I'll give up, yield all pride and sacrifice
Most of nothing and all of this
For one chance, I can't hold on to sand, I must
Exhale dirt, open eyes, firmly hold bliss
Among orange-tile rooftops
and chimney pots
the fen fog slips,
gray as rats,

while on spotted branch
of the sycamore
two black rooks hunch
and darkly glare,

watching for night,
with absinthe eye
cocked on the lone, late,
passer-by.
Her body was exposed.
I traced every curve with the tips of my fingers.
All over until I reached her face,
A new face,
pure and bright.
A face I'd never seen.
Twisted and tangled in the sheets,
She sang with a soft and gentle voice.
Like a boat slowly rocking in the water,
Knocking against an old wooden dock.
The wood splintered and rotted,
And then I was back.
Where had my mind gone.
It went to the beginning,
To the last place I ever saw her,
To the last place she was even seen.
 Dec 2012 Jason Drury
August
You keep finding
Yourself
Fawning after her
With doe eyes
© Amara Pendergraft 2012
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