by KJ Hannah Greenberg
Given a chair, we might just touch the stars,
Take for neighbors sun and moon, sprint among asteroids.
Otherwise, plastic flags, paper litter, the squeak of second seat clarinets,
Will have to sate us sartorially, must suffice as bursury to our elucidations,
Maybe, ought to kowtow, as well, to such atavism as pokes requests through realizations.
After all, young, pony-tailed toddlers do not cease nor desist from fingering, pulling
Seams on their trousers, lint off their shirt jacks, discovering oily sweat, tinfoil, chocolate.
Humanity’s hope remains winter’s carrots, guppy harvests, sinecure jobs, fog, glitter, snow.
Piccolos toot sweet, yet leave us longing for new dimensions in taxes, rain, also childbirth.
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