County Line

County Line There is a cross on County Line. Whose? I do not know. It’s planted in the rocky ground. Beside it lies the road. It’s crooked askew and faded. Its wood exposed off-white. Next to it lies a marker, An X by midnight’s light. I wonder where he was going, And if he knew somehow, …

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He appears before me; Cloaked in aubergine. Meters of spun cloth; Cut, creased, and tapered; To say forked things.   A diatribe in soliloquy; Sounds all the more convincing.   I once stood as he; Bespoke, bold, beautiful, Undeterred by truth, And followed him confidently; To salvation, to perdition; Happier either way; Than where I …

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A Politician’s Smile

A Romanian dancer; Laced in black; Stilettoed in the corner of my eye; Sees me. And I, with a smile, demur. And she does not.   Four languages of love; I manage two and mumble a third; Her advantage. I smile: coy. She holds her gaze.   Bucharest, she says. Ceaușescu, I reply. Vaccines, inventions, …

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