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Tear in the Sky

Don’t consolidate the mother with money,
Simple fool.
Give her a raincoat.
You see, space smells damp
Because there is a tear in the sky.
The young Poet pierced with his pen the world’s canopy-
He’s a heron now.
A heron certain to be swallowed
By a hawk who flies higher,
Just as the Poet had once been gabled up
By the heron he has become.
And what a proper sendoff, to the next ozone layer-
The singe of incense
And the tang of tears
Graced the air that we all shared.
And, as he always had, the Poet had us






So I sauntered through seeping brown sand that
The Poet, the Heron, the Hawk had
Walked, writhed, and soared overupon.
And I was told by nimbus birch beneath my eyes,
By a beak in my ear,
By the breeze only a pair of Jurassic Period wings can produce:
We fear death only because we are born unto life.
Ask Baby Doe-
She is abashed by the thought of living.

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