"Cultural Secret"
I must to wash the shadow on my nose when a gust has its reflection,
To move that star beyond flowing hearts to colors bounced over protection:
Sun may prove fit as complexity of skin tucks a few words in blue heat,
When stinging response about buttons on knots opens through exotic cheat.
*At times when I talk about my real life in exact terms, I come up with poems that seem fictional. I guess you can say I’m providing communication here that allows you, or that star, to get more comfortable with my abstractions. Even at those times when I’d have a negative mind while reading this poem I sensed a kind of roaring feeling that softens up beneath the bluegrass out front when I’d recite something that’s of Arabic influence. I like digging into foreign languages and speaking as though I’m still alive with this empty vessel of flame which results in my cold frame. I’m not throwing away poetry here, I’m mandating it.
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