the supposed

climbing trees
of a sleeping yesteryear.

this,
my favorite hobby.
catching grasshoppers
as they fought
from opposite sides.

a tennis court
with boundaries
set by chalk,
soft and washable.

like shirts you can say
I stole,
but no others I own
could pedal in tandem
with my only black cardigan
undoubtedly well.

I’ve never seen a dragonfly,
and snow is like pork
to babies of vegan love.

but its sole presence,
a decade not exactly halved.

I’m in doubt
of its capacity
to surpass the travels
of an earnest breath.

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14 thoughts on “the supposed

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