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My upper deck yields the timeless, touchable orb

Back home and sleepy

I see nothing of my worries on its face

My misery must be bending somewhere

Kneeling, in the black gaps provided by the arbor vitae trees,

in full supplication before this sweet full vanilla moon

I can hear life, at the sound of my screen door closing,

A darting, scattering to

A lightless safety

Hiding the heads of bunnies bumping together

In consternation caused by

The impenetrable garden fence

Bunnies don’t understand the science of immutability

With a lexicon fueled by the tender leaves of lettuce

They barter their bodies for change

Leaving me in brief study of Lorca

Living life in quiet desire, burning

With its greatest punishment

A body in service to fear

Selling remnants of material existence, but

Unlike the garden-bunnies, hiding in

Shadows of shame in incompleteness –

Smiling from the arms of flesh

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