occupational hazards

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Paul Whitener the Sycamore Tree

there’s value
in what’s written
in mother’s
edgy voice

of blunt space
of moonlit night
of sycamore tree

of turning away
of self-doubt
of turning towards
ready to die
over, and over again

as is best
as is done
by toying
with the edge

of brush,
of pen,
of small-town mouth,
of tongue to teeth,
of windpipes
saying hello

::

for Real Toads

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how i discern You

to identify Your rented moment in time
with as much sympathy as possible
, i scribe You a Capital letter, a Space

while You speak magic a silent memory begs
, are We another Ourself all together
? how fragile You whisper very like a frog

, themselves an old-time thing-a-ma-bob
prescribing for the world maybe
: momentary music : a ripple in the universe

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Karin Gustafson – Outsider Art

26: NaPoWriMo and Real Toads

you’re my favorite page,

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i want you to know that
in and out of rain
i would have dog-eared
your form forever,
but i can’t bring myself
to put a crease
in your timeless beauty
treachery, i promise, will never
touch your needles of grandeur

24: NaPoWriMo and Real Toads

Ogle


artist-in-his-studio-1626.jpg!BlogWe fall from Heaven, put food on tables. We sit down in sacred scarred chairs, no one ever doubting the full moon’s ability to expose us like whores in white wet bathing suits. We fall further. We wonder. Will Heaven have fig leaves? We sure do like to paint them here.

for Real Toads