louise is a cloud
listening to it pound 
her love into

half-light 
death tune 
in a noisy whistle

her life as is 
is nothing to it
tap out a rhythm
on it & it makes

a shell a home


god is a clam
clearly designed 
to float on injured

slowly and in silence
like a play
down even to the footlights
with that peculiar

violet haze 
squirming around 
the figures of speech





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