Linger on

It takes a rake to scratch
that itch in the throat
you put there when
you first laid waste-
down feathers, your
pigeon toes, your crooked
teeth and every little
moment captured on my

retina, upside down and
reversed photo shop
mess – some image hungry
mosaic of cork board
collage and everything ever
done wrong, book-ended by

you and that itch that
can’t seem to get hold
and here we go again with
the Santa Ana winds in blown
churn of time, attacking with
wisteria, sage, blooming like
a weed accused of being

a flower. You just
linger on and on like the
smell of the recent
rain; linger on and on with what

you forgot that came
before and reminding that you’ll
be back again and it’s just
useless to fight the lingering
smell you dust the city with as
the heat become prickles and
I drift away on the wind.

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