The Weekend

La souffleur à la lamp Georges de La Tour


Yea, the thing where
There’s a big vacuuming,
Or even more selective,
A return to leafy loins.

Nay, just a disappear,
But right here, with keys
To the universe, an agent
Said on homecoming.

Since that forth,
Even before, knowing better;
Daze blurs the dance,
Everyone a mere monkey.

Arriving free of all baggage,
Everyone emperor;
Lovelight song, kissing
A Star’s hand, blushing bliss.

Don’t miss the week, this is the endless,
Wrapping around warmly,
Like blown flame—we were once—
Before the smoke.


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