(x = space)

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While Rhapsodizing Feeling Sick Today

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I woke up sick

The kind of sick

That barely functions

For the rest

I got up

Moved around

Which made me feel

How sick I am

Sinuses rebelling

They really want to be

Somewhere else

Elysia

Or another

Warmer, health-filled

Paradise

Knots at the base of my neck

I can feel them

Protesting

On both sides

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I was feeling better

Going in

All right, it was too late

But thanks to stress and pain

I do not sleep well

Until I do

Hours into night

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Poor me

It is not war

There are no explosions

Nearby

Well, except the cosmic kind

Neighborly

Like protesting planets

Yearning to be heard

Across space

And time

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So visual

Aural

Also abstract

Where is the peace

The pastor observed

There is no peace on Earth

But then were heard

The bells

Calling, winter bells

Across amazing stillness

Unanticipating

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Surprising health

Surprising

On the Earth

Healing

Miracle

And grace

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It’s doesn’t matter

Call it magic

Call it autonomic

Say that tokens

And mixtures

Brought it on

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What’s in a name

Or sometimes an object

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then

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Mass shooting at a birthday party

Who needs to feel sick

Who needs a war across the world

This is the news

After the commercial

They’ll say something

While I’m drafting

When I’m feeling miserable already

Though this really

Is misery

And is there so much cheating

So much money

To say these losses

By unploughshared arms

Are worth it

Is one worth it

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They smile because

It’s the bottom of the hour

And ratings needs

Need

To drag us along

Here is the weather

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But what about the war

The war there

The war at home

More than drives for

Domestic supplies

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Back to the hunt

It’s in our networks

Sweet sixteen

Down South

It could happen anywhere

It’s happening anywhere

Shall we outlaw crowds

All assemblies

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Welcome the dead home

Heal the living

Maybe I’ve had enough

For a while

We’ve had enough

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Beck and call

Wanting to run away

Forgetting to think about

Where we’d go

Look at the maps

They should down here

Up there

Like those who school

For home

And back because

They can’t stand one place

Or the other

(ask the poets)

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There is no final

Summation

No lesson from

A kind man in a chair

We can look instead

At the booked as in books

Set

To leave it empty

The upholstered chairs

While we’re open

To ideas

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Let’s be open

Maybe it’s time

For something old

Like virtue

Or something new

Like voyages

To Mars

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I’m done now

Suffering succotash

For sinuses

Your turn

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C L Couch

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Photo by Evie S. on Unsplash

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