Re:Mused

(the one with all the titles) 

for want of wings, 
here in the resolve of remaining, 
(with Poe, of trees)
,
we are 
shaking out the down 
placing deliberate storms 
in bold pockets, 
found poems of Icarus waning,  
moonsquabble myths of moon.  

(come, o better fates)

assessment: after all that rumpus, 
(and this besides),  
we are
loose thoughts, caught 
(oh, blackbird with a crooked wing) 
(oh, story held tight in syllabled fist) 
all candlelit windows and a roof of dusty red 
all sonata scribbles to my someday self
all those things we said in the storm, 
and other sky shenanigans. 

no wonder we are struggling with stars,  
birds of a feather palming psalms 
for our preflight check. (too soon) 

her? 
well she is waiting 
on her wings while clacking b(l)ack 
(extra, extra) 
poem in peril, in the in between 
truer than north, yet un 
nothing ventured. back 
to square one.  

{last call for a wayward moon} 

::
In November, we poem. This one contains at least one title from each day so far this month.

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