Stone Tea and Sleepy
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for Noble tranquility...
from my Diary Pooretry series:
Pooretries of Place(s)
(A Cute Chronically of the Now, Earlier)
I saw a monk
make water today
and almost cry;
water that was almost
tea.
Tonight we couldn’t
make heads nor tails
of the blues or the pinks;
the boxes or the lenses.
Tonight we couldn’t
make heads nor tails
of the words called
poetries.
Tonight, the gravity assist
came to the heavy-papered
water coloured gouache, magnet held.
Tonight, the daal
was too spicy,
the back room too old,
the road too wind-y
or not winding enough.
Tonight, sleep came too soon for me,
for her,
for the cat on lap;
the grey barrier to repairing to
bed instead.
Today we pulled mint.
Today we lifted stones.
Today we borrowed swords.
Today we ate outdoors.
Sleep is coming...
for me
Sleep is coming...
to take and bury
the proper end to this
poem.
Copyright © Stephe Watson | Year Posted 2018
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