MY WANDERING POST
Much like a declension, it all goes
unclaimed, and now my wandering
post is wayward - because no one
knows its name. I once had a child
named Aphrodite : Roses, doves,
sparrows; all that St. Valentine's
stuff. New miracles, at an old oasis.
-
And now I sometimes hear voices, or
watch the small movies in my brain.
The live crowds, looking down, people
in places I have never seen nor been.
When I try to catch them, to catalogue
anything at all, it disappears. Like
love, oh Aphrodite, like love.
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