no roses

bleak sky and
clouds on the ground
unfasten a heart
flat on indigo breakers.
random fervor and flotsam
batten for vacant recall.
chaff is hollow solace
between futile glances.

No voices buoy song.
No roses waft a breeze.
No eyes diverge a shadow.
No hand caresses chills,
and No lips savor love.

banish desire
with sharp barbs
and blunt reason,
feverish on cinnamon verve.
recursive bon vivants and slang
thirst for jovial cheek
and sullied repartee.

No lips yearn for love.
No hand needs embrace.
No eyes define the dark.
No roses reek on a breeze,
and No voices in tranquility.

a cluster of one and
the ghosts of memory
quiet the restless silence
and sense of proportion.
No occasion to subsume
vague pedestrian anomalies
in The Many Love’s of Dobie Gillis.

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