david jewell poet

words. photos. images. whatnot.

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it escapes me but i don’t know what
floating upside down in a laser beam
drifting on a piece of ash
sleeping in a rose pedal drinking the dew

. . .

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it’s coming on in half sentences––the truth is convoluted
and not to blame––what is there,
who is there to blame? Eventually you look around,
see no one, not even yourself.

water planet

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. . .

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