Latin puppets.

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Latin puppets.

The Narcissi group like

Latin crosses toward the

Pavilion. Incantations

In their guts- fanning flames

Of a dormant sun.

A rhythmic action,

Made of each

Life that loved them once.

As an omen of spring;

A calling stone, yellow

Inks draining to secret doors.

Stalks beside stalk—

A procession of promises

Unkept.

The grass is scribbling,

The ash buds bloody black.

A good beginning

To things moving everywhere.

The security guard, paces toward a

Real door, then slows,

Stops, decides there maybe work

Waiting within and chooses to give the

Grounds another leisurely circuit.

No one knew he was there,

No one saw how close he got,

To pressing his shoulder against the door

And turning the handle,

Nick J Wood

Sea sores 2018.

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