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the problem with everything beginning on its way to its end/ is the hope it sustains in the one dragged along as its friend// and I'm not where I can reach the complaint sticking out from the shelf/ but I'll just say I've seen better ways of confronting oneself// and if they had any use for our middle here yes yes come in/ ah the sweet happy hours that would end something like they begin// so I'm talking to someone, let's say for a second it's you/ and its looking to be the familiar unhooking till two// and you cast me across from you somehow supplying my lines/ I can watch them emerging and hardly believe that they're mine// but if such you are wanting me, such I am willing to be/ and the whole conversation proceeds as if something for free// and each question you ask something answers just off to the side/ ride you pioneers stay to your ponies and ride// the witching hour cometh and windeth each topic-stream down/ regards to the author's precision, regards and renown// for the author's as-usual clarity, skill, and finesse/ that can leave us good-nighting the whole other pole from duress// okay, now, okay, yes, I get that, that's wonderful...now.../ when the morning surprises the world as it only knows how// we awake to a starting that reasonably starts with a start/ but joining the others gets harder to tell them apart// the answers we found so successfully now as back then/ to our questions just gives us permission to ask them again// and again I will ask them, but now more as something like this:/ will we always be destined to hit what we're destined to miss?// 'cause I don't mind if that's what we're doing, no really, it's fine/ if you only the once let me hear that's the basic design// and I'll happily, quietly stay to my bi-weekly post/ making most of the most-making make-mosting making of most// can we have that pronouncement? I least mean to be any pain/ but the maximum clearing is asking the dregs that remain// and the problem with everything beginning on on its way to end/ is the hope it sustains in the one you can come to depend// on them being there, hands out, in endless repeated belief/ just some eyes down below, trained and partly resistant to grief// and they'll be there as long as the day that they're in and the night/ turn this faithfully into the ghosts of each other as sight// saying 'yours', and believe it, they are, wholly yours in the flash/ that would turn them as quickly as not into unseeing ash// looking up understanding not questioning any at all/ as the winter as spring enters summer disguised as the fall// only Yours, like the turning, to You just as readily turned/ let beginning be ending and everything get what it's earned...


September 2017



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