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Sunbursts
A wintry sun
blinks in and out.
A clock shaped like a sunburst
tic-toc's late,
Saturday lolls in grungy time zones.
Out in the hurrying scurry
dragging half a poem around
head down inside a thought.
Menace barks
behind a chicken-wire fence.
Mind is somewhere on a green hill
semaphoring ideas
to frontal lobes and other matters.
Words come together on a parade-ground.
Pitbull's fall silent
pondering news
broadcast from windblown
graffiti.
The sun tics an eye
then bursts out of sight,
later a flat laptop
will open its mouth to speak.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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