The man asked the poet
why do you write poetry?

The poet replied
why does your dead skin flake off?


The bumblebee ascended
the hill toward the seated man

who watched as it landed on his nose.


Is it live
or is it Memorex?

Is it real
or is it flashback?


The sound of the truck without a muffler
bounced off the old oaks

echoing into fade
the sound dissolved

*you can find this poem in Madswirl

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Filed under poetry, published work

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