If something is not part
of a pattern, does not repeat,
is it still not a norm—
the norm of the anomaly?
For more than fifty years,
I have scratched my poems
like a dog its ear searching
for temporary relief.
The comfort of a pattern:
another successful day
passes without consequence.
I’ve placed a word on a page,
replaced nothing with purpose.
As above so below.
(June 20, 2026)
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