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Alan Botsford-II


                                  mamaist drops (2)


                                Let the salamander outrun

                                Night’s opening door;

                                Cast your own shadow in

                                The flame of morning.




                                While you’re going all the

                                Way from heaven to hell,

                                Stop in and see me sometime,

                                Said the canary to the cat.




                                The fetus curl he slept in

                                On cold nights warmed

                                The heart of his death

                                Which he kept watch over

                                In his dreams.




                                What does a daisy give?

                                A daisy gives a fig.

                                The lotus, though, blossoms

                                From the inside out, true to itself.



                                Salve is the best boon

                                Money can’t buy.




                                The end of now

                                Begins now.




                                I sought to wed

                                Dream and poetry

                                To make both true.




                                For fathers go forward

                                Where mothers go backward: thus

                                A word is born.




                                A word that crowd-surfs its way to center stage

                                To be seen and heard, is obeying not the word of law

                                But the law of words.




                                There was once upon the time the end.

                                Now before after, is just after.



                                Own your own

                                –is it or isn’t it?—




                                With the body in mind,

                                I mind the body.




                                Beyond control but tantalizingly watchable

                                Is the subconscious.




                                Past makes present commodify the future

                                Bought and sold in the marketplace of sound.




                                Alphabet soup and humble pie dished out

                                To the budding poets of the world won’t deter

                                Their appetite for life and glory.




                                Steamrolled into politics, I’ve discovered

                                Depths lying beneath the pavement of stars.




                                The taproot of the poet is spine plus pain, in equal measure.

                                The heaviness lifts with each letter written down.