Not Yet Fleshed

Thick as stone
more than a whiff of inkling in the air
all the althoughs unknown.

Thin as sight
conscience rings a bicycle bell
to hear it be quiet.

Hard as care
friendship laughs in a cardboard box
nothing in there but air.

Growing in groves
a good idea stands out from its crowd
it’s gone when it’s alone.

Full but gaunt
when as ill as a pile of refusals
purge the belligerents.

Loose as gossip
when there is no one in the house
it talks to itself.

Like bathing bird
the shifting between seasons is daily
time practices its habits.

Half ruffled
reading is wasted on heavy traffic
save it for the byway.

Golden omen
purred before the child speaks
specks of acumen.

Not yet fleshed
but fingered in the arm or the leg
one touch of one future.

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
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