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Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Hit

The dolled-up moon may star
in this pierced black reel
sprocketed and spun
to catch our night's lazy
attention, and why not,
what with her curled lip,
her too-precious stare
and her meteor lines
whispered low in the wind
to pull our buzzed ears
a little bit closer
to the telephone,
but don't neglect the trees,
and their stiff-borne backs
abiding far off
our radar, knobby limbs
raised strong to always
offer us support.
Without them, this shell
of a shimmering game,
even when we're best conned,
would never quite hit.

Francis Scudellari



This poem is written in response to Read Write Prompt #105: borrowed words at Read Write Poem. This week's prompt came in the form of a demanding 18-word list borrowed from another poem. I managed to fit them all in (click the prompt link to see what they were).

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