I come upon the winding road in the thicket
I come upon the winding road in the thicket
with a candle on my forehead, forging ahead
in the delightful remove.Â
Where the curves of the worldÂ
have cobblestones and ivy.
Briarpatch eyes and lazy ravens
painting the sky
too Blue.
I keep my leaving in my stationery hive of rainÂ
and long mourning. Happiness chips away at the frost
of a dormant grove of beleaguered charms…
where hornets sleep on spikes of spun sugar
and canaries are more yellow
than a laughing
Truth.
Â
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