Poems

Crying Death In The Way

/ All the art unknown. \

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Poems

Reaping Blades Of Sunny Grass

I was outside
Mowing the grass
When I thought,

People have got to go through
So much
Just to be so simple.

Each grown blade
Waiting,
Not a clue what’s coming;

I know what’s coming,
Yet haven’t a clue about it,
Except to say,

People take care
And that
Takes a life
Meant for giving.

Then,
Like a whirling blade,
Like a gunshot,
Like failure,
Like a crawl,
Like splendor,
Like life,

Comes mysteriously calling
Something I think like what I saw as myself
Behind the lawnmower that day.

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