forces acted upon him and through,
a fresh-cut twig
toward the Pierian spring bent.
his sickening quickened
just past Labor Day
as the moon rose faithfully
in cloud robes ochre,
so pleasant plump.
alone again, Charlie choked
at the lunatic orbit
about an irksome Earth.
his familiar throat-ache gurgled
through a knight-errant night elongated,
Charlie being all song-stuck,
his freakish faith aquiver.
we cannot know
if a moth envies
a Monarch's Mexican pilgrimage
but we can watch them
flutter foolishly
about the lit candle
while the high tide recedes
and Charlie churns out dreams.
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