Poet's Notebook, Monday Morning

I make cloud houses for living people.

I’m a fair singer also.

Don’t judge my posture.

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Poor Achilles, always a mama’s boy.

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Eat more American prunes.

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Cat stares down coyote. Past lives are decisive.

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Best anagram ever: “Public relations” = “Crap built on lies.”

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Imagination had been grudging. Now it was doggish.

Over there, and over there.

The endless ground beneath us.