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Angus stand heavy with February longing. I orbit but do not turn to meet their gaze. From there to here, the length of a finger
By Stephanie D. Rogers3 years ago in Poets
she plays a game of Patience with tiny tarot cards worn wax figures slip silent from her fingers Queens and Kings
Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show; But wonder on, ‘til truth make all things plain. ~William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act V, Scene 1
I read something in my hand the other day. I thought it was mine but it was his. Still I know not whether
When he comes will you wait for me? When you fight (as we know you will) will you tell him No Not yet, not without
It is the Phaeton husk of night. It is the Club car of a train rolling no where. You are sunk into the cigar rolled
if I had never known a man; one who would order for me, not because he must, but because he could; if I had never known that
Screaming at you on Valentine's Day or close enough not to matter When did they ever? Matter. To Us. To You.
lolling in the pool water softly lapping (not as good a word as lolling) against the sides I balance paper
i. Reckoning there is no anniversary but if I guess if I extrapolate if I reckon The Reckoning comes to FourThousandTwentySeven
I did not remember (as I so often do) until I saw it in her hand I gave you that, I said without thought
Driving 'cross a land too cold for deer and antelope to play while lavender wraps its way around the endless sky and cattle wade grey