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Bioman

 

As I write my name in the snow

I wonder if you remember me

and I shine from warmth of unexpected love

I wonder how many others have

carved your name in oak trees

with knives like my own?

With sonnet-slumbering oaths

to the world, I ask not

what to do with the winter’s

edge on your voice, icicles

sparkling verbiage at me like

you know what it is to be mine!

Love is not about the Right of All

being stark raving mad. It is about

the rendering of music to the sound

of the thudding heart.

 

 

COPYRIGHT BRUCE E SAUNDERS 2017

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Six years for heroin

kills a man and his

friends

suicidal, addicted

painfilled days.

You wonder

why

these men

were never armed

with the recovery biscuit

to salve

their

lives

against peremptory

issues such-like

as to award

the beginning

with far-fetched

ends.

 

Copyreight Bruce E Saunders 2017