Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Thursday, May 12, 2022

Sonnet #354

 The plankton at the heart of life submerged

In endless waters must not feel too much

Except the briny flow of all they touch

Like breathing, in and out, a binge and purge,

We like to say there’s more to life than this

Diadems rise, and doges pound their fists

And angry men and women make their lists

Of all the sins of the world on the tip of a kiss;

The fog comes on little cat feet, and then

Feelings are first so no one pays any attention

The wind blows in the branches, I sit and then

I look, and then I walk a bit to ease the tension

And then, and then, all the senses binging

On the place I am, the where of it, no purging.

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