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Andrew Morgan

 

 

PLEONASM IN F

 

Despite the lack of a spicy theme,
the concert will begin with timpani
though the program will progress
to darker colors, feed sleep into the air
while droning all affect
back into the anklet of dreams.
Speak only monosyllables of loathing,
craft the courage of your outfit
to match the brassy background
the second movement will reveal.
Raise the serrated spoon
on the downbeat and the feather
on the up. Drop only the cold
part of your scream. Keep
even your hopes reclined
or in pink like birds
entangled in their birth.
Keep longing reigned in, bridled
with bicycle chains and choked
until the shape of silence in the cart
crams all its angles into laughter,
burns even the shadow of you
beside the birdbath filled with flesh.
Breathe in short gasps without crying.
Carry your remainder in a cup to the bathroom
and lie on the floor like it's a slower,
colder soil. Smile if you support an encore,
dip the ladle to the crock, repeat.


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Andrew Morgan responds to art, economics, and Country Music not paying him for his poems.