segunda-feira, 12 de fevereiro de 2024

souza was a schemer

 pot belly comfort
The gatehouse cabin
eyes inside and out

not just the cats
greying and lazying
shadows lengthening

indifference and frustration
a plan bubbles away 
cabin's stove

Pot belley comfort
some decades ago 
he decided he'd won the game

My pale bridge ghosts were still writing the rules

Uncaring glare
unwise and overt
you can't wrestle with a place only a person

Yet I am there in spirit
even as my body stands far
my arms and legs in the trees

for every scheme
I send a phantom
invisible grins

ants that form the feral beast
and bite in the darkness


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