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Click hereThose Fates are fickle ones,
bubble bubble, rack and ruin
stand in the shadow of trouble,
and the rubble of plans drive
you something soon, but wax
wanes like night takes down
the fading Moon, puts it to bed
all hush till Eos rises radiant
relief, and raindrops pirouette
from Sun. I learned on Saturdays
across the sawdust floor, talc
tights, en pointe, en leotard,
pick a spot, focus, you spin
into something new, straight
ahead till morning's autumn hints,
of shut-down brilliance, time
for plans and gathering, a harvest
at last twilight drops a rainbow,
hung like a varigated gauze flag,
waving good night, sweet dreams.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 37,000 poems.
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Ang, thanks for writing this for me and Eve's enjoyment :)
j/k
I love when you write like this, I bet you have fun with it too!
You slapped me with it from the first line and now I want a total poetry spanking.
Yes, that was compliment.
*my thermometer is stuck between the cheeks of some other poem.