TUESDAY: Four Questions (But I Lied)

BY CHARLENE JONES

Copyright is held by the author.

Why is because of rosy delight
the full balloon of cloud studded night
the high light of a moon festoon
and fog lolling, boat moaning low bassoon.

Now is before
between the door,
the wind blowing more and more.

When is again or later than then,
breath moment, pause chase gather space
when.

And where is a tear in the place of no,
a blind of pretense,
a solid defense
from too many light flows, accelerated
rainbows
dust motes which float inebriated air rows.

Who is a grin
around which you spin,
sucked in, laughed out, lived for, died about
spin again, in again, out again grin.

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