Only Joking


Gentle beads with friendly witty waifs

ascend from the night’s sky.

A pine cone drops passively to the ground.

The fools gather around.

With nothing in particular, to be found.



the daily deluge of disturbance without a sound.

Former filaments of filthy winter wreckage,

made anew.

Fresh with frigid gasps of air.

Letting life out.

Letting life in.

When the elements begin, again.

Like a joke that only grows old…

the more it is told.



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