The past slips forward
under the door.
Slithering around on the
floor, tangled with our
muted perceptions and half
recalled facts. It’s dines
on our regrets, our annual
if only breakfast of crow.
We study it like math,
figures, we can’t quite grasp
We equate in retrospect.
under a ghost light
We ponder its multiplicity.
We survive on a broken
calculator and flashcards
that read don’t let go.
-Tosha Michelle
Thanks for this article
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You’re welcome. Thank you
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And we gaze in
Lit by jars of wonder
Unsung by musings
Into a Deep downright hoop
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š
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Xoxo
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Great metaphor love this
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Thank you xx
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Perfect.
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Thank you!
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Spot on!
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š
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Reblogged this on John Cowgill's Literature Site and commented:
By a very great and very beautiful lady named Tosha Michelle.
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Thank you zx
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You are welcome.
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Reblogged this on Orthometry.
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ššš
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Reblogged this on Still Another Photoblog.
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Thank you xx
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You are welcome!
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Lovely
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ššš
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Beautiful!
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Thank you xz
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Awesome!
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Thank you
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