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An Untitled Poem 

t h e
chuiciest apples on the
glope gum from my old oak tree,
whose unfolding arms in spring arouse
a grape warmth in me...I wish, I long for
stronger boughs to bear me in their skein,
floating skywards, lengthwise spread along their
comfort reach, a leafy rest supporting head and
heels...the feel of lifting, young-gest ecstasy a
breeze so light my feathers frill like down along my
drowsy daze, sprinkling here a delicate shower, my
bower washed and preened...I sheen in sun and sway-
leaf shadow...having had a mother once, I know the
feel of scoured teeth and ears with gleaned
corners...enough of that, for now...souse my
light, douse me in great drafts of greamy foam
and float me home through dancing
streamers...singing “Down” and “Up” and
“Around”...dazily, dizzily twirl my
couch-borne corpus, and set me,
gently now, last
to eon-doze...

Speaking of...

  • A poem by Laurence Ryan.


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