362/365 - 364/365
In my chest's center
sets a bowl, filled with poems,
lost and forgotten.
showering of the lawn: two hours
of pulsing sprinklers.
As I close in on the final poem of this cycle, I wanted to experiment with a lack of punctuation as a means to suggest double meaning, a play with phrases. In tonight's three lines no commas exist. No end stops, nor semicolons. No dashes.
For whatever reason, I often personify the moon, offer up a personality to the satellite's presence. What results below: either the moon is reflecting on poetry or the persona is meditating on poetry. Both figures participate in the formula simultaneously and individually, a blurring of action between the two realities.
the full moon rises
contemplating a haiku
while I brush my teeth
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