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Rustled from sleep by the bird’s whistling; slow and quick, sharp songs two of them framed through a trapezoid of morning sunlight in the sugar maple outside my window                 so I went back to sleep. Moved from gray artifice of work and workplace concerns, given dignity to my passions before I turned as gray as the job is blue as the rest of them                 and on Tuesday I said        I’d cover your shift. Called to love, like a diplomat— from my country of isolation; given the royal runaround, and sent back with eternal kisses on my neck                 and that is         about the time when I stopped receiving calls.
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Dec 20, 2021
Dec 20, 2021 at 4:26 AM UTC
Poem Written While "Smiling"
Rustled from sleep by the bird’s whistling; slow and quick, sharp songs two of them framed through a trapezoid of morning sunlight in the sugar maple outside my window                 so I went back to sleep. Moved from gray artifice of work and workplace concerns, given dignity to my passions before I turned as gray as the job is blue as the rest of them                 and on Tuesday I said        I’d cover your shift. Called to love, like a diplomat— from my country of isolation; given the royal runaround, and sent back with eternal kisses on my neck                 and that is         about the time when I stopped receiving calls.
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Pennsylvania
Dec 20, 2021
Dec 20, 2021 at 4:26 AM UTC
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