Tropic Troping Bird
My world is each changeling
stroke, a god’s
blue breath. Where clutches end,
nothing much to grasp.
My skin shines
like melted pennies.
That’s how the light is on watch.
Eternity is incremental. A mouthto-
trough existence is simple.
Our regard for each other a series
of seconds raring
to stare and stare. Narcissistic?
Not for me to say. All is blood gain,
fib by fib. I wonder, hot-bladed “loon,”
are you one such bit of marginalia,
a pattern of foxfire scat strewn
wherever I turn? Love of pleasure wakes
startled with disgust.
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