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When I closed

When I closed my eyes
   to rest and dream,
a stark little narrative came to me:
      pale eager naiveté
      stale dry violets
      specks of dust
      a mercurial dull frenzy
      brutish movements, nameless souls
      hammer blow pity
      sickly, useless
      a muscled little sprite, vicious
      her wrinkled olive skin and
      dry butterscotch hair

      happy, horrific birdsongs
      humid morning air
So much of life’s pleasure
   followed, of course,
   by so much despair
When the master baker bakes his last
   how does he know and
   who does he ask?

-July 13, 2008-