Ian Randall Wilson

Acts of Mind

She broke out in a rush, her hair flying
like two dogs screwed together.
No one gives up their love that easily.

Then the full frontal philosophy begins,
a pot twist, a sympathetic carrot.
And you call

the stones hiding among balls
a little out
you call

the bells in the cupola tossing
a little in.
Quiet, please.

What is it with our kind?

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