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 Feb 2018 Miracle Beyond Me
r
If a person is quiet
enough inside,
they might just be
able to catch on to
the table of contents
of what it is
I’m trying to say, to
get to, to put away
before it's way
too late, and I don't
mean to
confuse you,
like before men
could speak,
they enjoyed confusing
one another
with signs,
they enjoyed this
as much as
a mirror enjoys
an image shine,
or the evening,
like a ship, enjoys
a sapphire grave,
but that's not what
I'm trying to do,
I only want you
to hear what I have
to say one more time,
just one more day
before it's weight
becomes way too great.
 Feb 2018 Miracle Beyond Me
--
Hollowed murmurs crawl
From shaken wells you've sprouted
From; ventured farther than most
who've pined for gold noons.

They call, reverent,
To the passion-oranges n'
decaying yellows,
to wrap you from winters foul grip.
But fail. And lay frozen in powdery
sweet dusk.
Summer glows but it's pallor stumbles into a glinting Autumn but then slips into a dead Winter. See Springs harkens to Summer's Ghosts and his rebirth.
Matchbox burning
Cigarettes ashes flying
Ruining ownself
With beers and wine

flight of birds in beautiful darkness
Punching a strokes of walking zombie
Daily fight in the dream tectonic sleep
Over the clouds of blanket
A departing love in the intervals
Untouched the flow of present...
Wondering of greater past...
Swinging a pendulum of memories
And a last kiss...
The hottest lines - one after the other I devour
Salty - sultry - tasty - juicy sweet like a toasted flower.
The ink runs from the corners of my brain,
Oh God, have I been eating poetry again?

I made the mistake of swallowing one set of rhymes when
The librarian appeared, putting on her necklace chained
Reading glasses while looking down her nose.
Her eyeballs rolled, her head shook out her woes.

Tearing off another page with her walking toward me,
She was about to release the dogs - I had nowhere to flee.
She stomped her feet and began to weep
As I crumple the next page into a heap.

She backed away as I snarl and I bark,
Crunch, crunch, crunch - swallowing all the way to the question mark.
Finding her nerve she approaches me with a moan,
Then I watch in amazement as she tears off a page of her own.

Folding it up in the palm of her hand, she smiles
And growls and shoves the whole page in while
Pulling out another book from a hidden pocket in her dress.
We sneak off together into a hidden recess.

The hottest lines - one after the other we devour
Salty - sultry - tasty - juicy sweet like toasted flowers.
The ink runs from the corners of our brains,
Oh God, have we been eating poetry again?

With baited eyes we snarl and bark
Chomping with joy in our bookish dark.
This piece is my attempt to describe that need for expression, especially if you have someone who shares that need.
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