25 Feb
frustration, a padded room without give
a mangy lion pacing without pride
gnats dive, closing unafraid
of teeth or tail, busy golden, leftover drips--
I was Ahab. Who were you? Ear mites bore
into the cottage brain jello 
hear the pock trails being designed
half a squirm remains in the red delicious
bombers and tigers symbiotic frustrate
2g WiFi refused to spear a white network
in the sea of imaginary waves
cannot hunt a dancing bear
to abate the sinking feeling



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Posted by on February 25, 2022 in Poetry


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