scrap-paper people

eyes on one page and hands on another
here a mailman,
there a mother,
tornadoes and punji-pits,
mazes, monsters,
drafts first and final
of swords and their lovers –
pinwheels from meetings,
flowers unplanted
objects in voids
and subjects enchanted,
scrap-paper people with scrap-paper lives
a mind let to wander
a mind that thrives.


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