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Large Print


 
My eyes are running out of ink.

(don’t you hate it when that happens)

Holes pricked to extend my area of focus & peripheral vision

–first of all: worked–

but
 
 

caused the ink to run dry in incremental

drops as well

–as wells will do when unreplenished–

(water basins, too)

wHiTe DroPs

from laugh lines–

–definitely those, but

> most not<

mOst Black DroPs that pooled

and caused tears

which caused Paper Jams

and cost money,

and now I’se fade daily.

Squinting at that crumple∙d∙ream instead of printing

Losing ink–

–not toner.

as after decades of use I am unequipped to

*pinpoint*

my desktop printer is barrels more Tone

than other models that came out around the same time,

with prototype ALL IN ONE functions that appreciate–rather than depreciate–after each  run.

I’m no laser jet, but I could be retrofitted…

drip-drip-drip

. . .

even so.

All printers need ink,

and mine’s going/goinG/GONE

Factory shut down without relocating across seas

Cartridge after cartridge dropping out; the electric surging right along with it.

The copy function, well, I never had one,

facts, either,

(derivative & drivel buttons might have been depressed the whole time, though, I confess I never checked)

and lately?
 
 
Lately the scanner

stopped calibrating the rain color entirely, which,

>believe it or not <

changes rainbow prints.

Lass in Glass

 

a bully

~fully~

understands

the tactics that are scary. . .

what menaced pace,

which “in your face”,

will keep its victim wary–

–and I should know

I’ve had such foes,

just 3

–but they were hairy

 

the first

was worst,

and I–accursed

encountered child often. . .

at school and play,

at dark of day,

she found new ways to mock, and–

–cruel she was,

I think, because

we had so much in common. . .

 

the second,

threatened,

~soul and skin~

she was a woman, grown. . .

a reckless beast,

that trampled peace,

of mind and body, both.

she haunted me,

like ghost, did she,

she could have been my clone.

 

the third

preferred,

the written word,

to taunt, since she was older. . .

meaner, leaner,

scripted schemer,

bitter–but not bolder. . .

all thorn, no rose,

she dogged my prose,

she copied over shoulder.

 

But hope,

was cope,

for tormentors,

to make them run and hide. . .

as was belief

in self-esteem

to leave them high and dry–

–and I should know

since treble’d foes,

were

 

me,

myself,

&

I.

Karma Chasing Dogma

 

my life was full of

karma bugs,

from my skull cap,

to my Ugghs

–picked ‘em up while sowing fields–

–aided by a turning wheel–

–seeded for a karmic yield–

and though a few

came out in wash,

the rest of ‘em I could not squash.

 

I swatted some

up in the air,

alas, a lot came

down from there

–falling to the bed I’d made–

–next to which I sometimes prayed–

–petitioning a sunny day–

and since my chickens

roosted there,

I let them be

as Nature’s

fare.

 

Foregoing swat,

I tried by fist,

throwing down,

but could not squish

–even one, and fingers spread–

–cast 3 digits back at head–

–index hanging like a thread–

pointing out my

trebled blame,

my harvest

in this karmic game.

 

And recognizing

game afoot,

I realized to

fight’s no good

–and “going there”, I came around–

–at which point, all bugs came down–

–no longer bane, but new friends found–

 

a crop of opps

I reaped that day,

on b’itchy back

was karmic pay.

At First Glance

 

He

passed

posed

possessed

such a

jeerful

fearful

cheerful

expression

–his personality

expensive

expansive,

and Shining eyes like

Nickels

(son)

shudders

shoulders as

God

broad

as any woman could want

. . .

cliff

cleft in chin

you could get

tossed

lost

in

And so

prig!

big!

The

rite

sight

of him

always made me

small

smile…

Context is Everything

I’m all mixed up

jumble

–drawin’ a blank

scrabble

–cant seem to find the right way to say

word find

opposing views don’t always need such vehement expression

cross words

such expression can go over the top

hangman

be misconstrued

bee miss Speled

turn 15 minutes into

black magic squares

render sentiments into

re’sentiments

aka

Ghosts.

Before

the place before creation

is a world of its own

impalpable foundation

not made of flesh or bone

its imprecise location

a universal home

More of a vibration

in transcendental tone

a melodic adaptation

of aggregate unknown

a trembling narration

that dictates mortal stone

an ending destination

for every living soul

so relish this vacation

since all life is on loan.

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