Dream Lids
We baled out
into a swamp–bad idea, turtle
wading onto my head,
snapper, its creased leg eye-dangling khaki,
mottled shell
a dangerous helmet. You turned
to help. “Don’t use the oar,”
I pleaded at your hoist, but seeing aim
in your eyes, shut mine,
dream lids able to shield
as needed.
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Here’s a re-write of an older poem whittled down to 55 vine-tangled words for the G-Man. Let him know.
A week of a lot of work at work. Agh. Have a great weekend.


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