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This morning's poem: Spring

Spring


Words from puffed purple lips

after a fall of rain, heart, and slick mustache

say this is the kiss that heals a child's scrape

that I have fought forever to be Daddy.

The tooth came out as a stained sun

open for interpretation of an old poem.

I put a fist into a window as more error

blew even my mind into a corner,

I will sweep off her feet the woman

who puts me on hold to calm

the storm.  And I will win

never by default or this rain delay

this game of love.

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