J A C K E T # 5 |
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Thomas Bell Missing in Action (a) In prurient muddles of life We make prudish puddles. And prudish puddles run-off, run. Run down the alley not too far From my home, home in the valley On the far hills of the shadow That dwells still after torrential Thaw of my life's blood of strife-free Zones. No prurience, no foul. Play words As you will The rapture does not quite heal The rasp of her voiced concern Was at odds With the melancholy Wings of lithe Gossamer. Talking to my body. It talks back. The weight of breath is this that The skein of The congesting stresses of The custodial confines of fine promises The "special place where bricks or colored threads are handled" The choked torment and joy Enfolded unfolded. Speaking to life. It talks back. Artwork by Thomas Bell | |
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