'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,

last night's. petrarchan. whatever; duh-dumm.

So simple is impossible. With you,
It's complicated, Lisa. Look. Right there,
What you just did with “you”: bullshit. It’s fair,
And playing with the form, but out of true.
Still, maybe it’s the best you can get to
Tonight, though napped, a little worse for wear.
A scent is hanging lightly in the air:
Your distant neighbor’s smoldering barbeque.
Another horoscope of crap du jour.
Leave well enough, in case it's just as well?
The notion has a powerful allure
When how things are, they are, but hard to tell
How you shape them yourselves---like now, when you're
In some unknown-duration sluggish spell.

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