why on such a golden day
drowsing past
river-banked flowers
did you dream like that
a dream that was
anything but gold
whose heart would lead you
nowhere
where your every sparkling
entrance on each dissolving stage
would be so dully reviewed.
you couldn't even begin to ask directions
in a town where
even roses at their summit of
rose perfection
could be judged unfit
unless controlled-
mary angela douglas february 2008
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