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The Way An Autumn Day Is Made
by ellen

                   In my regular life, I would
                   have had thoughts in my head.
                   In my extra life, I don't.

                                           ‐Doug Dorph


I'm chilled by years
spent solely in the mind.
Wakeful till dawn,
spinning rich tapestries
of desire at a solitary desk,
when autumn sends
its banquet of color.
My brain won't focus.
It spreads like a river
branching off in distractions.

I look past the sun
placing graced light on palm crowns.
Shadows lurk beneath.
Leaf fans send out
multiple swords
in random artistry.
Dead fronds broken in wind
nest in curls and twists,
upon native artifacts buried underfoot.
The war always in my pocket.

 


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