flakes

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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