Monday, May 13, 2013

Fanfare


The mouth’s empty cave
Platonic, muscled with truth
Where worry about tickets,
arguments, agreements, tokens

the children are singing anyway
the birds are singing anyway
worlds and words twist just so
the pollen drops careless as scabs

the calm hugs from everyone
their pity spectacular and partial as
discontent dished up at supermarkets
common as sunshine now--and weeping

_

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