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To Frame the Streets of May

To Frame the Streets in May

I sat to frame the streets in May

Whose asphalt baked to mark their stretch;

Its vacant strips delude my sights

As distant greets, once rung in dusts,

Escape their place to hide from hail.

And though the hail exalt their fill

The streets stood bare; its cavities,

Beheld in lensed reviews, would puke

Their ice from dips like rabid dogs

As it offends their emptiness.

My feet could feel the sidewalk’s damp

As hail would crowd in liquid swims-

A glistening exult, for hail

To entertain my moods, while I

Appreciate my meant seclude.

The crackling stopped, and ears of mine

Have since endured the quiet played

By charcoal clouds, whose stillness parts

From melodies no hail could deaf

And scenery no shadows hide.

Afar, I watched the hails convey

My wish to frame the streets in May.

Lilied Glass

In autumn weeks, a voiceless pine

Ensued inside my depth’s regard

To cups ensouled in lilied glass;

Why does the urge to reminisce

My hurts cascade from crystal rims?

Did undisturbed appeal they held

Behind my mother’s turquoise knobs

Exasperate my thirst? Or did

Inverts they bared on salmon cloths

Assess my urge to feel unique?

But no, I wept, withheld in fear-

Why face the harsh suggests their clear

Evoked, when I instead comply

To shameless gulps my throat withstood

And drown my insecurities?

And so the clings of nerves they served

Demand their worth from my regrets;

To count the droplets trapped within

Their lilied glass, like oral tugs

Anxieties of mine restrained.

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