She peeps in
Osiris smiles in my sprightly garden,
The rose buds are proud ,reciprocal,
Recipients of warmth and honour.
I sit with Ginsberg’s HOWL , a page
to fan me , not to howl me,
Slowly the heat subsides,
Dog star recedes with a
Look of expressed defeat.
It is now past six.
As I drew the delicate blind,
the artistically woven printed
frills of the yellow curtain fritter,
waves a salient good bye
to the gubernatorial Sun:
Queen Moon enters, quiet,
assisted by lucid ,tranquil charm,
To spy my writing desk.
The glow of mouse
Lurks into nothing.
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