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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