Poetry

The Pulse of a Puppet’s String (draft)

A heart of wood,

not easily turned,

yet crafted with

tides of love.

Resilient to all

afflictions, desiring

that which many dismiss:

humanity. Flesh.

The drumming of ruby

rivers through a

blue-green maze,

a pillow inflated

with air inside

the kinetic cavity.

But porous grain

and rounded knots

only become sinewed

in the wake

of honesty and

its brother,

truth.

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