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The White House

The White House


Every passage stumps the reflection

no hand on crystal captured that everything

is fine and the linen is crisp as bills.

But the phone is a bridge, needing repair,

when the tone is set on its black water

high as a tie, or this private vehicle.

Chief has a land untaken by the books,

not always arranged looks, the way

is cleared for takeoff, no jumbo fret

to sitting back.  Rooms race the

grandfather clock, or the historic

predecesor, parallel to a door, and

how to begin when the endings are wide open.

It's always the woman who has baggage

and only visits and won't ruffle feathers

off a plume unparticulate to housekeeping.

The house is giving space to a full mouth

no morsels mark from being free, to getting lost.

Dwelling of final decisions of unthought through

placement to be colorful, but not to please.


s.grutz




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