On the Second Floor [working title]

I live on the second floor

Where we share air, our doors open

In levity as in grace, I stick my thumb in the soil and think:

Empty sonnets make for empty vases, too still and somber or somnolent

To make streets abide by due ritual, all discounted or continued short

Maybe a little later on, we can climb the stalk and see in clouded arena

A space for further study, a lithe crumpet of syncytial influenza vaccine remedies

Up all in my grill too further wallowing, all up in

My cadenza, Mrs. Fluff-and-Iron, way, came down in dew strewn mist mustache

Asking questions and baking away for a farthing too, in all abundance

Nine, six, a mason, in rhythm striatum in my cough, in my manner, in my thought

For other hopes or reason by which to abide, by which to sell, short, or in other terms:

To know not, for all announcement-side, that which is played in camel’s nicotine lozenge

In city-state in numerous ways

In conundrum of decay or, altogether, a withdrawal like the times

Simply rhymes

Simply rhymes

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