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Her spring cleaning.

There on the kitchen floor, scrubbing the grime from her life.

And those white bubbles.

White bubbles all around her, my foamy girl with sunlight overalls, one shoulder off cleverly.

And wind-wild days with the girl in my morning bed,  possibility floating like infinite candle balloons, and me, tickling her back, pearly goosebumps forming in the wake of my fingertip love.

Then the leaving letter, on delicate paper stained yellow, my back pocket staining the letter yellow, my back pocket nursing the letter years after the hurt, like my confusion and palpable nothingness will paragraph her into existence.

And sequenced time no longer matters.

And remembrance twirls while cold stars laugh above, non-gazing.

My walking emotions tank, the waterway of employment like a red sea Moses would never cross.

A bible nonexistent.

A religion of sports in this academy of fault.

A leaden morning with curbing appetite.

Electronic calligraphy meant to inspire.

Forensic contemplation.

Complacency’s crescendo.

Summer sunshine cleaning cleverly.

Sweeping, always sweeping, the “me” and the “I” and everything in between like dust bunny fur balls in a question mark field.

And her kite flying high, windless.

And my iron sailboat sinking in wine.

And the paragraphed girl existing in a somewhere sky.

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5 thoughts on “A Paragraphed Girl, Cleverly

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