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left-footPoems
as our letters age my twenty six best friends gather round a winter fire, a Valentine’s Day retreat from the bones internal chilly yellowing, we’ve been together from the Day One beginning, a life of commencing conception, deception, immaculate and messy mixing practicing fumbling, making and breaking the conventional, we arrange and rearrange our unique ordering, overlapping with your version, cousin, so we communicate, but uniquely ours, individualist letters, witnesses, markers, word~children, born, lost soon seventy will come, and a party, a literary review to be held, mourning the many, works uncompleted, toasting the few that satisfied, acknowledging the collaboration of all the twenty six with special guests, an aging five senses that were the kindling that sparked them into action oh my dear ones, my best friends, your knew me too well, my best, worst, my progeny, blood of my blood, voice of my guts, consoling friends, who brooked my self-deceptions, yet denounced them when over-the-topping, comforters of our mutual ashes buried in one casket, our final poem, clutched, at last... my alphabet of life... Sat. Feb 22, 2020 10:26am
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Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 10:26 AM UTC
As Our Letters Age (alphabet of life)
as our letters age my twenty six best friends gather round a winter fire, a Valentine’s Day retreat from the bones internal chilly yellowing, we’ve been together from the Day One beginning, a life of commencing conception, deception, immaculate and messy mixing practicing fumbling, making and breaking the conventional, we arrange and rearrange our unique ordering, overlapping with your version, cousin, so we communicate, but uniquely ours, individualist letters, witnesses, markers, word~children, born, lost soon seventy will come, and a party, a literary review to be held, mourning the many, works uncompleted, toasting the few that satisfied, acknowledging the collaboration of all the twenty six with special guests, an aging five senses that were the kindling that sparked them into action oh my dear ones, my best friends, your knew me too well, my best, worst, my progeny, blood of my blood, voice of my guts, consoling friends, who brooked my self-deceptions, yet denounced them when over-the-topping, comforters of our mutual ashes buried in one casket, our final poem, clutched, at last... my alphabet of life... Sat. Feb 22, 2020 10:26am
you will be invited.
#as#our#letters#age#leftfootpoet
left-foot
Written by
left-foot
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 10:26 AM UTC
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