Nothing Much
The morning has no news of me.
I may have to dig out words
from there squirmy underground nests,
look for a distracted squirrel
in an imagined tree,
envision my upside down figure
legs swinging from a high branch
something to get the blood flowing into my head.
Now I see a thread, and now quickly follow it
to where these lines abruptly end.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2020
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