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 Sep 4 Prevost
Kalliope
Somewhere between yes and no
Where the sky is purple
And the water so still
The grass grows tall
And it sways in the wind
I could stay here forever
My dress flowing in the breeze
Your gaze holding mine
But I can't build a life on maybe
And neither can you
But who's going to
Look away first
Maybe we grow old together
And preach forgiveness to our grandchildren
But maybe I never see you again
And you're just a story I tell my daughters
 Sep 4 Prevost
Nylee
Living in simulation
We are in illusion
Reality is not in your zone
When the heart is at peace
The petals will fall,
so with the leaves
The knowledge is within
But eyes are not seeing
what the soul knows.
 Sep 4 Prevost
Malia
I dot my i’s and
cross my t’s,
a perfect ballerina
dancing across the page.
Graceful as a butterfly
soothing like a summer sunset.
Sweet, simple, flawless.
But already there are
scribbles, mispelings,
blots of ink and suddenly
this perfect canvas is no longer
blank.
Oh, to write like a wildfire,
no remorse or formulaic
meter!
Just bared wide, torn open
displaying my wholeness as
us poets so often do.
Homeless and roaming the
streets like an orphan.
It was the dead of winter, and
I was still alive—barely.
My ex-girlfriend let  
me crash on her couch for
a few days.
She didn't smoke.
I did,
so whenever I wanted  
a cigarette, I went out in
front of her
apartment and lit up.
One night, bent on nicotine,
I entered the January thaw.
As I had my  
smoke fix,
a man with a  
huge Rottweiler slowly
walked by.
The dog caught sight of
me, and gave me a low growl.
The guy talked to
his pet like he was
his best friend.
'Leave him alone, that's his home;
let him smoke.'
The dog knew better, and
glared at me.
He barked loud and viciously.
'Leave that poor man alone.
Let him enjoy his cigarette,
that's his home, '  the man said.
A small dog began  
yapping in the distance.
The man said,
'Oh great, you've upset that little dog.
Come on, let's go.'
The Rott gave me an evil look, and
sauntered off.
He recognized his own  
kind.
He also knew that there
was something different about me.
He could smell it,
almost taste it.
He knew I was a mongrel
and a stray.
He knew I didn't
belong.
Here's a link to my you tube channel where I read my poetry.  My book Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems is available on Amazon.com
lift the cotton, look again.

cover the place with whiteness.

pink is pretty, white is clean.

they do not want to see it
today, a reminder of fragility.
varying kinds

and ages

it dries and cracks if not stored with care.

biscuit tins are useful
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