There is no normal frame
To hang the image
To represent
This week in my life
Until this fog~
Mighty mist
As it weighs
Upon~
Lifts…
Cakes decorated with posies of prosies
Written
Thru swollen windows
Thrown open
To vistas
Drawn up from
One dystopian
Sepia toned
Pen
The collection called “Results”
Is my new nest
And it is being feathered
With the strings
Connected to
And not exclusively of
My heart
And the pieces that remain
Within reach
Pinnacle
Of
Pestilence
All efforts
Lost
On the fringe
Of this battlefield
Like shoes
Tied together
Hanging
On
The tension
Of a line
Once said
In anger
This week has not been the best
Something is in my ear saying “just wait”…
Send Choc, I think the dementors are on their way…
X-J
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