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Writing
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The Open House
The Open House (for Peter Meinke) |
with trained poet-killer eyes
I crept into your house
your heart, in my bare feet
through azaleas, over worn red brick
under pecky cypress beams
to catch you resting, unaware
sipping wine with music
A drunken Santa New Years Day
or Christmas Eve
but you were somewhere working
polishing your game; serve & dribble
goal & match for sleepy players
novice killers, would-be thieves
it's better with the doors unlocked
you must have thought, laughed
and left your keys
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| © Kyle Amon |
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