loudly the cicalas purl
even unto September's maw
& faster blur
the headlines that appall
i thought i dodged a speedy pill
as i into some form return
even this din
brings a familiar swirl
to the late shadows that swell
i spent four lonely days in a brown jelly haze
loudly the cicadas purl
Plutonian Braille
among bright blurs
An old limerick of mine.
"There is nothing you can show on your face that can match the horror of this time. Do not even try. You will only hold yourself up to the scorn of those who have felt things deeply." --Leonard Cohen, Death of a Lady's Man (1978)
A new, heroick, limerick i just wrote.
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