January 2

It’s a joy. (Joy!) It’s a gas. (Gas!) Or else it’s
a weight (wait, what?), weighed on your ass. Someone told
stories about rings of brass, someone something more

about greener grass, some see a drought
if they’ve only drunk half a glass. It’s
more a puppet, alas (than a store,
than canvas), mouthing: “I am.”

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Author:

A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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