At War
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a brief, morning, corona virus isolatiom free verse poem
Nowadays I wake up hoping for the unpredictable - the novel.
When I open my eyes the angel of death isn’t out to get me.
Then - I remember - we’re at war and practicing subterfuge -
that measured trade-off between safety and despair.
So I move to my patterned routines - I dust my unused lips.
I check the level of my virtuous thoughts - hhmm.. getting low.
And I prepare the clever inventions that allow us to simulate life.
Copyright © Anais Vionet | Year Posted 2020
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