A willow stands sentinel in morning sun,
branches lean, pulled by gravity or longing.
A solitary raindrop quenches the earth
Communication; witness life’s new beginning.

Seven hundred million kilobytes per second
all of them bear the same urgent thought.
You have to see this fox dressed like James Bond.
Miscommunication; nothing to report.

And still the chamber echoes with your ballpoint views,
the winds face East, and you call it news.

And those minor sevenths hang in the air
make you feel as sad as you want them to.
Why not choose happiness? A thought too rare.
Let the beat bring the root back to you.

Written disconnect, or a forgotten dream.
Can’t sit still or stay in this hole.
Yet the anchors’ faces fairly gleam,
their perfect teeth obscure the goal.

Go outside, rejoice in the rain
Though it falls on us all, only some call it pain.

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