AN AIR IN MIGHT MARSHES

January 28, 2017

 

 

The word on the street was repeatable.

That was then. Y’know, now  not so agreeable.

That word, that gist  in senseless sentences, that word

It just must be ignored.

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The sleepy  air  slipping right through the reeds there,

The night marshes where nightmares Stay as seeds  there.

The song, that mist of music meant to soothe, yes, songs

That must not be ignored.

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Upon  a  pond

Where big calm mists meet surfaces

Water bug clouds  dance down aways

And I stand to see through tree trances

This moon is broken enough to lend to substance

For  near and far bearings,  distances,

And  at first. existences.

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I swear here’s where the strings swell in

 

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(2 YRS BACK)