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3 poems found in the notes app on my phone

 1. Inexplicable Sensations Like a dog, maybe, I get hotspots Parts of my body that ache Or feel chafed Feel sore to the touch Or stiff to move "Ouch!" This odd sensitivity  Defies all sense No doctors know No one understands "Don't touch that!" My body is not mine It hurts Who is this really? 2. And Yet and yet another dreary morning straying from the charted path and lost in a blue-lipped haze despite the dedicated climbing despite the strict limitations feet on the narrow course upward eyes trained on prescribed footprints and yet during the nightmare night arms flailed and legs fell and my entire body spiraled downhill in a feast of tumbling tremors waking in that dreaded ditch again coated in wet sludge and thorns unrecognizable, a masked shell on yet another dreary morning once again, once again 3. Star Light, Star Bright I lay at the bottom of a ravine A think trickle of cold water on my back, Sharp stones lodged into my neck But I feel nothing I am weigh

Backward Design, or Outward in?

An avid puzzler, I read fiction with similar tactics Building the outside edge, the boundary, Then slowly crafting the faces The recognizable parts, the eyes, And bodies begin to emerge  As I weave toward the center Keeping the background for last, The sky, the grass, the foliage: Greens and blues that complete the story. And when all the pieces are in place, I want to take them apart and read it again.

Skin and Glass

Spun glass skin So fragile Transparent Porous Splintered with holes My brittle body A broken figurine Of stained glass Shelved  In the back closet Years pass Skin turns to paper Bones to dust Blackened  Abandoned, alone

Triptych

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doomsday poem take two

 a world where birds no longer fly we knew it wasn't a hoax this time doomsday prophecies become history we knew it was a storm of factors racism global pandemic climate change antisemitism and all the rest -- terrifying displays hate mongering fear spreading disease spouting blind lies believed unquestioningly the birds did not fly south for winter for the first time in recorded history they stayed, instead, and froze to death falling dead from trees rigid iced bodies littering the sidewalk flooding our lawns and streets, inescapable like a world caught in a falling avalanche we knew it was just the beginning

A World where Birds no longer Fly

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