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Texting or is Love a Microbe?

By: Ann Privateer

My mind is on my mind
and I'm thinking in shapes
of love spilling over and out
like a howling booming orchestra
that wakes up the world
before it turns quiet again.
What's on my mind?
How love flies in and out the window
like sour dough bread microbes
unseen, unheard but you know
they are there.
Something was lost
then...found again
on my computer.
The piece written as I waited
for the little ball to stop spinning.
Write a comment, what shall I say?
Write about love, how love
flies out the window
Write about love flying in
like sour dough microbes
invisible until you taste them
and then, I am hooked, I can never
return to French or Italian
crunchie though they may be.
The night is filled
with apparitions
on the wall, filmed
in low density

Resolute I sit and stare
at emanations
from who knows where?


Ann Privateer is a Poet, Artist, and Photographer. Some of her work has appeared in Third Wednesday, Manzanita, and Entering to name a few.
She can be emailed at:

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