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In an attempt to make beauty
(or make beautiful poetry)
I begin to calm

I press California reds with Florida yellow
and sooth my wanting lips with a lemonade pucker

My strawberry fingers will not wash
they occupy my six string
to relax my wandering hands

But without my want,
and my wander and my worry
My words do not paint bright

All I can say is that your face
which did not touch mine
and your hands
which did not hold mine
asked me for a poem
I cannot write
for I am calm
and bright as a sun-dog today