Our Place In the Middle
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for Noble tranquility...
She, a left-brained leftist.
He, a pretend-monk of the Middle Way.
She aches North,
he rushes South.
The moments traffic clog and smush and crumble
into a jumble of hours...
The island, a respite, from the weary
us apart. We come together in our
middle place.
To forget erase
the dour the dint the dirt
of the peopled world.
We come together in our
middle place.
She from the Left,
he from the Middle,
and its all
Right.
Copyright © Stephe Watson | Year Posted 2018
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