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 Jan 2019 Grace E
Riz Mack
a poet who can't write
a dog that won't bite
a hill that can't climb
a clock with no time

an ist with no ism
undead but not risen
an endless schism
of self sedition and indecision

a two headed coin
a completely missed point
a light in the void
a limbless joint

Bo-Peep with no sheep
the shallowest deep
an unsailed sea
of dreamless sleep
while morrissey despairs in the background
 Jan 2019 Grace E
Tiger Striped
I was never much one for lavender
until you told me
it was your favorite
and suddenly
its sweet, sweet scent swept through
my room
my clothes
my hair
I held my breath
waiting for you to notice
(you never did say anything)
I kept it close to me
never asking myself
if I liked the way it smelled
it was your favorite.
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