I am not writing poetry
the moondog doesn't howl
why call it a new moon
if it can't be seen?
The sun has gone,
I have nothing to reflect
the talent has moved on
leaving pedants
whining old ladies and pedos.
Reflected light has cycles
and shines in new and hidden ways
not every night can be a harvest
but hope of it ignites our days.
SEE MIRROR ME
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I no longer write in throes of mania;
I closed the wardrobe, shut out Narnia.
I'm needed here, with full, chiseled wits.
I wear camisoles now, to cover my
It's hard to let go of a part of your mind
so complicated...but I have defined
My own story. A narrative I change at will.
I'm able to quiet the passion I feel.
I delve into learning as hungry as ever
to consume knowledge- but I bring down the fever
Stave off desperation by backing up my larder.
When I need something badly, I have things to barter.
Of course I refer to things but I meant
The values, the grace that my words represent.
Did I miss this or forgot I’d read it. Really beautiful.
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