Confession
I
The cycle spins,
like a windmill,
generating energy.
O
And once,
when the dew must,
arches outwardly.
Jazz Umbrella
I
the trumpet squeals as if exhaling my nom de plume;
we mend the holes in the O.
II
The magic pose--electrifying ways of a woman
tied to verse; tied to verse; tied to verse.
III
Circles bend their diameters for a taste of candy.
Unleashing yourself in the rain.
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