poem...
the healing ears (not a typo either)
a hanging half moon night is
nagging away a blue sky day...
driving back home and stopping in on the way
a mallard stands at the store door...
mom with a butcher knife
still screams in my ears...
remembrance…
that i got way too close
to an unknown
full-swinging baseball bat...
and the many drums are healing once again...
yes please... the resonant.
-- © 2003 weaver
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