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Sun on Sunday

(x = space)

x

x

Sun on Sunday

x

It’s dim outside

And raining

I hear wet tires

x

A gloomy day

I do not mind

The Addams genes at play,

I suppose,

The kind that make

A lark of dark days

x

I’m a day into

The new shot

Feels like the flu shot

And every vaccine that

I’ve had since

Childhood

The site is sore

x

I don’t mean to comment

I want to respect

The courtesies of others

That are challenged

Only in

Contagious situations,

Where they make

The issues grim

x

Like guns, I guess

We know what we know

And I might be wrong

x

But let’s not make it politics

But practicalities

There is an epidemic

I’ve lost people to it,

Which gives me added rights

To nothing

But my sadness

X

C L Couch

x

x

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

x

In Aslan’s Country

In Aslan’s Country

(https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-46014463)

 

I don’t understand

I guess I don’t need to—

Not for mourning

Not for counting

Not for asking

 

A new plane crashes into the ocean

No survivors

 

One missed the flight for traffic

Or other ordinary reason

I imagine there are some who made it

And were considering their luck

 

Half a world away

Right now feels like home

 

Not an issue

Except that God is watching from

A breaking place

 

C L Couch

 

Flesh and Blood

Flesh and Blood

 

I tried to tally death a couple

Of weeks ago

Starting with two explosions in Kabul

The second device murdering those who

Had responded, rushing, to the first

Since then, schools have been the setting of

Murders, too

Workplaces, neighborhoods

Nature has taken part in many

Though we kill well enough on our own

 

The count of death is maybe not so

Useful beyond actuarial

The flesh becomes abstract

The quality in tears evaporates

The blood is in another room, not

The one in which we’re arguing

Funding and our rights to shoot each other

When and where we like

 

Control and majesty of black metal move

Us more than someone else’s

Daughter or son

 

This is not about an issue

It’s about a loss that’s real

Stolen like bounty in the night

Hell’s gone a-hunting

So ephemeral a trophy,

The soul

 

If this is an issue for you

Then vote for something

And in the mean time wait

Until changed forever

And on occasion wonder why

Steel propulsions have to mean

So much

 

C L Couch

 

 

Index of /teaching/g/circles

 

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