How Brief, Yet How Full

How brief, yet how full that first encounter | between you in your prime and me in my | secondhand life. | Hello, treasure hunter, would you like to dig through this box of mine?

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Sober Winter

Waiting on a slow line at dinner hour | air hunger befalls me, symptomatic | of nothing less than a moral panic. | Life’s too short for gas station flowers and boxed wine

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Black Friday

On looking over my harvest field | To see what crop my life might yield | I was amazed to find its state | For I had left it to its fate

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Gathering Rose Petals

to be romantic

to steep in bath water

to float in a cupped hand

to read into

to press in a book and forget

to remember today more than other days

to remember what I like to do

to remember who I like to give rose petals to

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The Sky is Falling

When the Old Man fell,
it interrupted all scheduled programming,
including Britney’s tenth birthday party,
where I was one minute
feeling

to pin the tail on the donkey,
and the next listening
for the sound
of a pin
falling.

Falling
like ashes,
ashes from the sky
in Oregon.
Fifteen years later,
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