Tessa, What’s The Trope Now?

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image prompt by Elena Sands

I am resolute. Turned toward you
as I had been, haven’t I?
Memory’s taut as rope, even a trope
and imagining is
what we do, prodigiously
as forethought.

All this passionate singing amidst
instruments be the company
we keep in dwindling dark.
Shaggy are the furnishings, a prologue to
our afterlife. Aren’t we all
nervy of that, Tessa?

All quieted down after storm.
Kissing in the light dawn.

Prompt: All quiet on the Eastern front. Rain but no storm. Bliss but no bliss. Yet it’s still noisy inside. Know what I mean? Since life is an effing paradox, try and write about that. True, true. There’s only gray and more gray after a certain age. No I am not being ironic. What are you laughing at?

 

 

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