good morning, all poets

blurry sun, sleep tonight
go dancing into the orchards
drown out the dark to shield the noon
from out in the gloom

closet moon, take the day
like the famous hand of orators
find their words attacking even you
and come all unglued

there’s a hope denying pain
to a planet’s gaze of the earthen
soil realized to find again
it’s a part of the rain

and even when you find yourself
a bittered, angry toil
across from the asides to find you’re soon
lost in a tune

while spaces rearrange to find
the words are never mine
they’re just a lonely hand to guide
the ruins

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