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The poetry was flowing
But not through his poem
It flowed through his eyes
On into her soul
His words they whispered
Tears down her tired cheeks
She bathed in his passion
   And his darkness she reaped...
Traveler Tim

A creative observation.
If I were a tuft of cloud
Up in the sky I'd float
Over oceans, rivers, streams
Meadows, glens and moats

I'd be a brush of Ivory
A streak, some fluff, a wisp
An artist's muse on an easel
A song on a poet's lips

I'd see the rising waves and land
I'd hang low on plateaus
I could meet with lofty mountains
Capped with gleaming snow

I would gleam in happy wonder
In the eyes of a curious child
Spinning shapes and fantasies
Within a dimpled smile

Sometimes, I'd hide the sun and moon
Sometimes, I'd bring in rain
Pleased I'd be to lounge and sail
In a sky of blue again

I would be glad to meet you too
Away from the madding crowd
Should you be walking on sunshine
With your head up in the clouds

If I were a tuft of cloud
I'd hum la la la dee dooo
Happy I'd be to lounge and sail
In peace in a sky of blue.
An old poem
cat — or the echo
of some old philosopher
dreaming through small lungs.

Moss-sutured dawn spills —
heron’s wing fractures glass hush,
water remembers.

home is a cage
slide out the window
find a different way
run with the wolves
chase the child

it won't always be like this
ceramic heart
cosmic bruise
lovesick in a hotel wildfire

chemistry begins with
orbiting the moon
he calls her a river

swallowing down mistakes
she cares a little less about everything now

blood on the mattress
young blood

breaks in the sun
mean pure dark is yet to come
--nightly things

as long as she gets by
despite the crushing weight of gravity
she will take swan feathers
and wedding days to bed

but never take the blame
a falling star,
drawn to another,
as if the universe
had always known.
just cause...
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