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Poetry

Herculean

For years I’ve toiled,
I’ve worked the earth.
Well, I’ve worked on the earth,
pushing a mower over
a puny patch of grass.

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Suspension

Conspiring with my audience
in suspended disbelief, I twitch my legs
and jerk my head and blink away tears.

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Useless Moon

Seldom a day passes that I don’t see the moon.
Hanging by its point amid a field of faint stars
or glowing audaciously over a cluster of
cottonwoods on a sunwashed afternoon.

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