Poem for the Year of the Rooster
With one empty print cartridge
In my pocket and a light blue pen
In my hand
By such means I have catapulted
Myself into nothingness toot suite
I hear the morning doves calling
To me well nigh
Into the evening
In a lowering sky
My mood is exalted
Standing on the backside
Of the extremity
While again the sap stirs
Not yet ready to rise
One Dead End sign
Behind me and one
Right by my side
Yet another out past
The horizon line no longer
A mere metaphor perhaps but
Now fully cognizant
Of the landscape's
Inescapable meaning
As time's inelastic
Demand curve traces
The creek's eastern shoreline
Before opening up
In a parabolic function
Past the osprey nest
Out towards the inlet
Which really is more
An outlet to the sea
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