Leveler Poetry Journal
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Why I Write in My Diary Every Day

I falter a patch of birds and spill

their song. I prickle the daylilies

with homilies and hurrahs. Nice pleats,

I say to the scarecrow, ruptured

drag queen of our pastoral snows.

My old oaten pipe is rotten now,

my pollen fallen into sickly weeds.

Poor weeds and thistles, witty

with bees. Sometimes I think

important somethings in the field.

Sometimes I nothing into wood-

land and dark my way around.

The scatterbirds are picking teams

now: over there against over there.

I am in the middle, here,

doing middle things. And

the clouds look like rabbits

with bad dreams.

Gregory Lawless