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i got my lachrymose lipstick.

i got my strand of polished tears.

i got my father’s raging voice

still burning in my ears.


i can hear my storied muse

gleefully tapping,

joyfully rapping,

despondent staccato’d heartbeats

in her jitterbug shoes.


always so articulate.

always so precise.

are we more or less honorable

when we pay the price

for betraying our light?


a moment in fractions,

distilled from actions

both coarse and triumphant

in every lifetime.


the seen sees the seer

in the grains of sand

falling from my hand.


a zen clock,

it’s pendulum rocks

in explicit rhythm

of relative night and day.


our fears are weighed down

by trains freighted

with hate and despair,

crushing our share

of hope and serenity.


but i won’t stay long

in this tortured place.

i’m just passing through

and i hope you are too.


i choose to go home,

returning to a land

both sweet and abundant,

where the songbirds

warble with laughter.