The Evening Bazaar
Dreams of catalytic prisms
Pry upon my gutter brain
And dance among the gypsies
Of the night.
But when I wake in the morning
No nectar smells and fuzzy hairs
Can fill my finite hole.
Loping about the languid landscape
Of time and place I can’t help but wonder:
Would I have made a better dragonfly
Than a human? Perhaps I was one already
And thought conversely.
And in this way I busied myself with myself
Bip-bopping and buzzing by
The evening bazaar.
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