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Thomas David Lisk
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Cheaper Mist
This way is cheaper,
half the splintered conga,
minus the grommets,
no matter how tempted

you are by “however”--
Bastille Day in any other
month, and no excuses,
just the usual guarded

swerving against the red
on the right side
of a square curtain
threaded together

of bamboo thin
as tendrils escaping a coif.
You watch the untethered
kite with a wistful

feeling of farewell
as it wobbles and ducks
shallow in a sky
divided by swabs,

not sailors or short
Swabians but gobs of mist,
for a time
the most volatile of identities.

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