The past becomes an octopus.
I’ve witnessed and too-tendrilled know:
It’s an unblinking escape artist—
Need a trinket to see save drowning.
But let it veer deep as sixgills go;
Pike-skewer a star, instead, my dear!
Fish not for the sun-submerging—
On hook-n-spear, stick any beam
Worth a skyward-follow.
Your poetry reminds me of my poetry professor’s style of writing. Beautiful!
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