...
ask yourself daily
"what would me I want to be
want to do today?"
...
the past is a cave
where memories hibernate
best not wake the bears
...
first asexual
reproduction: a poem
bacteria wrote
...
old sumeria
where poetry was the same
trade as pottery
...
psychic jealousy
future reverts to savage
mental fisticuffs
...
tired eyes stare on
tiny voice squeaks, "let's put seeds
in here," so it goes
...
poems are distilled
chaos, translated into
words of potency
...
though moon be sober
celestial consorts all
as phantoms spiral
...
let's up the ante
low stakes are monotonous
all in with my heart
...
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