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Friday, February 3, 2017

POEM: Commuter by Angela King

Commuter

Sinking downwards, the spirit falls unkempt
through regular staged compromising doors.
I say what I have always said, that you
are no less, maybe more. But my money
wields a choice already made. This new suit
fits me well. I stand straighter. Buy a house.
Give money to the poor. My signature
states which pew I have ascended to. Side-
on I am thin as a coin. Hobbies tailor
my tunnels of air & time. I bring nothing
here but my mind, clearly defined and raw.




POEM: Gentle by Angela King

Gentle

If we are no more than this, one small fold
of sagging flesh – one breaking bone of mind
to prop us up against the fall – one eye
that puckers blind in noon’s false clarity –

How can one more day reveal us, give space
to what totters insensible inside?

Yes strive, & fall, & strive again – decline
each small disdain of life, & cry against
the turning sun, though glib fools say it comes
often enough, & enough for us all.