"splintering kayfabe"
holding off on the harsh poem
i thought to have made meanwhile
hoping a mote
blue book salvaged from heart's blood
flowing out & the flak thrown
bludgeon of flowerbeds
cancerdeath verse carped at
a hundred scribbling hands
we can't help it
sonnet carrying something
like woodsmoke weaves among
sad worries
this time of year tarries
snail with a bomb on his back
too bad
"Skittery flicker of a glare-weary lizard"
--Elise Partridge
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