Street of Printers

Over the years, she gained deft control /over degrees of daydreams/those tumults where she drops her burdens/results show up, bareheaded and sullen/a chalked skull contains sore beliefs./She gets results by phantom gesture/ no escape from a downward spiral/it’s a cascade of discourse/a bleeding trail of right vs. wrong./In a tilt familiar,/bones relax, then somehow elated,/wary of competing, a humble air about her/she predicts farm murders by the millions/skeptic, I watched her./On the street, there’s equal leverage /yellow house, hunched in cold air/I could not but beg to eat/noticed remotely/in the days of the wild blue yonder/when harsh animals suspect I’m a copy

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