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Lansing, NY [City, State]

 

Because I am not the son, I have the skin of a word

 

that has spent its life waiting for definition. Inside the father’s gaze

I am unread. I cannot tell when an expectation reaches in

 

and arcs the atoms of the plot. Sometimes

 

a poem will bring the mother into my understanding.

Or the yellow lines falling on the papered floor are characters

 

beginning to shout each other out of their reveries.

 

All the stories I have known have been smudged by fog

and the pencils crossing the words out at night.

 

 

***

NOTES: Not much to say. Just ran with this one. About three minutes worth. Nice to have a prompt that let me do something quick and light.

Read today’s prompt by Sage Cohen (as well as the inspiration beyond poem-a-day) over at Not Without Poetry. My goal is to write a poem each day in less than 20 minutes, and without additional revision beyond the writing experience.

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