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Honey Spill

Honey Spill

(for Susan Lynn O.)

It only seems a dark lottery is fixed
Your numbers were a Helios calculus

beyond doubt. Your eyes filaments,
honeycomb butterflies pinned on a record

needle. Your night music got louder,
the beat jaundiced. Our suburban

noir morphed towards it’s assured end,
but don’t we all? No. Not like this. A ballet

of bonding shadow on white picket
points, we float! Two Rorschach blots

inside a canvas tear. Let the liquor have
its spirit. It only seems a dark lottery is fixed.

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Comments

just noticed another bleed into my eyeball, it's much too fucking slow for me.

You know what I find really scary? I know that I love your work, have made mistakes even thinking you were pretending to be you, but now
I don't know anything.
Except I like this and appreciate your talent.

cheers,
Jess
Neopoet Directors

Jess! What's too slow for you, again?

author comment

not been well.
find it particularly hard to keep up with your brilliant and active mind

cheers,
Jess
Neopoet Directors

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