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"These Weeds" by Rose Maloukis

Rose Maloukis

These Weeds

Spasms trouble a tired body, little flesh, no hunger. 
Leaves cycle, vanish, more and more empty sky.

Dishes fallen to the floor. A mouthful of beaten rice — I cannot swallow! 

A purple balloon buffeted by slow circulation, no direct draft.
Surface highlights, rotations wobble, roll then lull, they are imbalanced.
Are you alive if your breath — the balloon, under the blouse, senseless —
         vacant.

At any time    direction    train of thought    lost. 
How to make sense of
This heat persists, so humid it’s cold.
A desert’s chill without bird, light or law.

It smells true, faintly, that everything I know, has slipped. 

Misery arranged by weather.

Without warning gray turns to navy. 

Black lines the leaf.

Comments

This is an excellent poem and one that triggers thoughts of dying and beauty and fragility and nature's indifferent cycle.

Thanks Dan!!

I have 3x stroke survivor with daily seizures & daily muscle spasms so this hit me deep. Brilliant poem!

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