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 riding out a monday afternoon funk i read CharleS Wright and tu fu over a CuP of green tea steeping to give the right kick. From the black sofa: drone of roadwork weatherworn water tower (my silo) window view my only compass. I’m itchy with lack of use / the same as uselessness? Late May. Lament seizes every district. Tricornered irises in a water jar beginning to droop/fade. Melancholic eye paints everything grey/blue (no flooding here, drought eases after two days’ rain). Try to have each line prize egg-cupped stillness before lightning-rod telephone rings it away. No harm recalling early morning my son and I hand-in-hand strolled to buy one green-leafed cookie before bending to sniff the rose garden’s candied blooms (my P’eng-lai tortoise holding up the world / at least this day). ...

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