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Seasons To Spare

Seasons To Spare   

Manipulated water shoots up high
then falls down low
drops in a fountain
making me dizzy
and the ground looks to tremble
as forest dust flits by

Everything’s an idea
Everything is wind
Every fantasy seems worthy
of it’s own bloom

But seasons to spare
I no longer have
as time begins to burn
and I waste it
walking on fattening ankles
through monkey-brained woods
watching droplets fall

Tressa Lee Breen
December 16, 2013 

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