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May 2019
sitting on a lazy chair,

bones locked in place.

as rain randomly falls

through a breeze like

scattered seed.

wholly intent on the green

sway it compels, i reach out

my hands to absorb the stir.

imprint the latest turning, and

run them across my face.

seeing what sees through me so much

better now, wet all over with the

shoosh of passing cars.

raising the goblet that wets the beak

of a black bird, hailed king of my ghost town.
Written by
Onoma  (N)ow(Y)ou(C)an
     S Olson and ---
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