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 Jun 9 S Olson
Pagan Paul
Like the Empire of Rome
the dogwood
that thought it was an oak
has fallen.

It lays sideways to reality,
its cold roots
cling on for grim death,
the vainest hope of survival
is indeed vain.
Its assassins laugh
as the death knell rings.

Like the Empire of Rome
the dogwood
that thought it was an oak
has fallen.

Pagan Paul (07/07/22)
 May 31 S Olson
far away seems so close in your eyes
and you push your blood away to
feed the wind or some whispers
unimaginable to the full
my torrid eyes see the sky full of scars
sometimes when
the moon is full of boom
all I feel is you
 May 19 S Olson
tiers of light splash down

suns thru one well.

the mouths of flowers

coloring the gypsy pipes

of birds.

images leaving where they

left off--to be three of a kind.

the most silent-speak striking

up sound.

think the butterfly-lungs of

a collapsed sky.

the turn, or curve of resurrection--

recalled by it's circle's circle.

in the dead of round.

a black & white wreath set

speedily to color--on a chosen

the night is still
the snowflakes spiral down
in a slow waltz

she dreams of me dead

I going to make
a few changes
in my life

i'm going to

i'm going to steal
a white horse
thunder in her hooves
and lanterns for eyes
and a heart of sand
and gallop
past the glue sniffers and junkies
through 9 to 5 prison
through the steel and concrete maze
past the grass needs cutting
the garden fence
and rotting cherry tomatoes
past the paying of overdue bills
the chicken deep fried

O, that wild horse!

we will make that run
like 2 shadows chased by light
and into the drift of stars
we'll fly

Oh, that beautiful horse!

no more sad songs

some people feel free
sitting in a tree with shotgun
killing a deer
a marriage
or themselves
some people think they are free
staring into the black sun

my love looks at me with ghost eyes
and dreams a shallow grave

on a mountain crest
my body chopped

and mixed with grain

no headstone

she dreams of me dead
"roll over, dear,"
i whisper,
"please, turn off the light."
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