Poetry

Litanies Against Dying, 16 (198.)

When big hooks thrown by little thoughts
pull the body to and fro
When, then, did we become enamored
of bright neon liquids
When a singular path opens not to the walker
a wanderer they become
When late afternoon awakenings
drift to lounging and pondering at home
When work isn’t so dire it requires
deployment to the office
When storm clouds mingle in bright blue rooms
When thunder murmurs and rain drops
wait for lightning’s invitation
I sit and sip this Gatorade
while fierce wind yanks the bushes
and trees outside my window
And I welcome peace

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