Monday, October 10, 2016

8728. ANNABELLE

ANNABELLE
The way this path doth cross
the gorge, so far below us water
running. These are treetops, and 
this is sky. My, my, are we not high?
-
I search for truth among these landed
gentry  -  men with suits and silver
studded heels. Finding none, I just
move on, my wicket a waste 
for the holding.
-
A Klondike game of the well-sourced
all; enemies and friends together.
Everyone looks out, from this high
perch, just to see what it is they see.
I see Annabelle; I see me.

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