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My Problem with Sunrises - Dec. 25, 2023

Gary Hunter

I’ve tried to describe this face

accepting the warmth of that sun

as it plunges deep into this huddled being

with the soft agony of chilled fingers

clutching a steaming mug

 

it’s feels fraudulent 

 

sure   I have words to hand you

in the compressed pill of a poem

but why would you swallow it?

 

everything would be third

or fourth-hand lyrics

slightly sour from the sweet reality

 

who knows – quantum poets

might someday get there   

cut through the maze of feelings

pierce that fleeting smolder of light

grafted to the cold skin of a human being

and expose the emotional skeleton

 

though a challenge remains - transcendence

 

for the one who’s head is slightly

bent   sitting in a plastic chair

has jumped space-time

for an accidental heaven

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