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Phalanxes


Phalanxes
of plastic ducks: wizards, barbarians--
the occasional detective--
swirl in the giant conundrum.

Plastic dolls (fashion dolls?),
no judgement on brand
or aisle or hair, especially now,
hear the canard-verse
via pathways laid down in heat,
in formless transformations.

They know the wars.
They know the strategies.
They know the tidal energies.

Or so Mandy says, holding a damp doll
by the hair, dripping on the carpet,
sleepy as an oracle 
fresh from a hot spring
[or a bath]
prophesying plastic.

It's been a week since The Sunday Muse. And I'm working on the Indie Summer Read/Writeathon (currently reading Rocket Science and enjoying the drama) and working on other projects...but I find that I'm missing my Sunday poetry. :) 

-- Chrissa


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