Lit Mag Poetry


The sun is an enemy and a friend today
to dimpled cheeks, stained with freckles.
The carefree spirit becomes a crusade,
searching for some kind of imperfection.

It will not be found that in the way,
while others search for our world’s fallacy. 
But it’s true that nothing can be crocheted
from the tangled mess we create absently.

It is best to pledge allegiance to the arbitrary.
Gazing at tiny bees as the breeze ambles by,
the coveted red beneath the leaves of the strawberry,
and the shimmery dance of the trees in late July.

It is best to find a home in any place you can.
The unknown on the horizon of the azure blue
Or in the heart of another of your clan. 
That is all that I can know to be true. 

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