three or four songs
droning on
it becomes an
endless calliope
set free
and when the sun
warms your shoulder
words become bolder
in an instant
and the hot keys
of the keyboard
don't go anywhere
special
but ramble on
in a cluster
of rhymes
that fluster you
with their
awkwardness
the empty chair
waits for you
even if i don't know
enough about the you
i recognize as my own
and less about the self
that trails behind
(mind)
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