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  May 2021 Norman Crane
zozek
burned wood smell mixes
with the alluring mountain anemone odor
as I walk up the oregano aroma filled hills
with the excitement
of being close to eating mountain strawberries
all wild and not mock
they are truthfully tasty, rich, and redolent
wholeheartedly you
far from being bland
unreadable
and forgettable
Norman Crane May 2021
the shadows passed
and they were gone
the shadows too
  May 2021 Norman Crane
Maria Mitea
the onion in father's hands didn't have time to cry,
with his fist punched it on the corner of the table, spread salt and
ate it with sheep's cheese,
(like the builders of the pyramids, my dad was paid in onions)

the onion in my mother's hands was sweet and made many leaves,
spring after spring she shared it throughout the village,
people were wondering: how does not bring tears,


every time I have an onion in my hand I think,
to clean it with my hands,
cut it with a knife, or
punch it with a fist,

the onion in my hands
is waiting
Onion - the symbol of eternal life
  May 2021 Norman Crane
Ale
You know,
I find myself saying
"I'm sorry"
quite a lot.

Back then
apologies were beat out of me,
so now they just bleed out
from the scars
on their own.
Norman Crane May 2021
72 floors up
through sheets of pristine glass, cold
as cut from glacier,
the neon city lights are fire,
burning a receding horizon to ash,
swirling snow static,
legs dangling, lips draped with bubblegum,
fingertips depressing keys,
bit by bit arriving at the erasure
of the virtual,
a corporation of thieves.
she executes; post-execution
she breathes.
  May 2021 Norman Crane
Sheila Haskins
No sir, no not me
Come no closer, can’t you see?
I’m freezing as the springtime frost
So won’t you let me be?
Wind tossed as the blossom
Bleeding from the tree
I am but a child; I’m lost
I am wild, not dutiful
Scarred inside; not beautiful
My demon lover  left me
Underneath the cherry tree
No sir, no not me

No sir, no not me
Come no closer, can’t you see?
I am not a fresh faced maid
No sir, we can’t be
Plucking cherries in the glade
Walking in the evening shade
I’m buried in the foetid earth
Awaiting spring, denied rebirth
In the soft sun, in the rain
I shall never rise again
No-one can ever set me free
No sir, no not me
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