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Blessa
October 9, 2012
Heavy like cork,
plum-soaked in vineyard bloodiness
and other traces of red.
Thick with logic, a tussock
arguing its place. Greenery’s arms
steal blessed sun and mock my garden.
Angry as a lovingwoman
pillowing temples
of children.
Splintery and serious,
the pangs of little things that don’t fit.
We can revel in the throbbing.
Is Earth so stern?
© Brian G., Phoenix, AZ
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