days without words
or with too many
I long for
one word, a brush of color, a small sung note
the sweet rightness of one
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one hundred refusals
nothing chocolate about rejection
_________________________________________
minhas vizinhas -
Portuguese women
who in
middle-age
have become
tree trunks with shoes
their bared neccessities
give me the blues
they grunt uphill
dodder down steep stairs
bags full of meat and gossip
_______________________________________
play fugues and arias
sip tea
