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Friday, May 29, 2015

On the Edge

The sound of fresh coffee
the odor of jazz
smokey noise scratches
somewhere in the background
a fan perhaps
inside is full of clouds
that threaten rain and mayhem
outside the sun hides
beneath a pile of blue rocks
yet to throw off sheets of light

It's a marginal morning
when only a loincloth
keeps the level of decency
primitive just above
a reptilian image
on the back of eyes
still unused to multiple lids
where movement is the only
assurance of protection
animalia in procession

Rise oh useless human male
a cause for this sensation
lies just around the May pole
from reasonable badgers
who begin their infiltration
juggling words in defiance
of all earthly order and meaning
pressed into service
before a measured phrase
unveils itself at computer speed

Barry G. Wick

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