The One Ghazal
Too elusive am I? Too illusive? Too much a feared one?
I attribute the moon. I’m an exceptionally
weird one
The songs I sing are symphonies: blue codas wrapped in truth,
but lying I become an ever more
endeared one
Prefix, pronoun and amphetamine was Prometheus with fire.
awesome was his wrath rendering him a
Seered one
Sheep in low meadows suffer like sun-stroked sunbathers,
separated from the flock, I become the
sheared one
Jungian mandalas , whirlpools of consciousness
emanate from green dreams seeking the
revered one
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