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Late afternoon, impending storm unpended and this restless heart hops from moment to moment disengaged; even poems pall. Reading of eros, agape and philia I laugh out loud here alone on a mountaintop, wind picking up all around me life in full profusion cultivating boredom as an antidote to the profusion of life below. I'd write a love poem graphic, rich in erotic imagery but I can't get it up, as they say. Bored with boredom. I can't continue this game this hiding out. When the rain comes I'll take my clothes off and run outside. I'll let the cold wet pellets of water wake me from this oblivion. How many people live like this all the time? |
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Issue #7, February, 1999 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.