Gayle Reaves-King is a poet, editor, educator and Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist. A Texas native, she lives in Fort Worth. Her chapbook Spectral Analysis was published by the Dallas Poets Community. She was a founder and for several years an organizer of Pandora’s Box Poetry Showcase. She is a member of The Writer’s Garret in Dallas; besides the…

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i am watching a virus ascend on a country, live on television, like everything else “a one in three chance of catching it” the newscaster says, echoing the expert he has just interviewed, the agony of those suffering reported third hand  Men who live in crystalline houses busy themselves making decisions for those in daub…

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Begin with A for agony.  True, other ages have had their pains – torture, slavery, Holocaust, hunger, war, but this we feel deep in our pockets. Behest – that’s like gifting. At the behest of CEOs and bankers, masks and guns, we forget the plea for simple words, ascend the ladder from clear nature to…

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You scanned the area as if it were the first time you had plundered Your timing was crystalline: the last moments of light, the broken bulb on top of the totem A surge of parking lot birds echoing in the crisp summer air announced the magic hour These were trying times, so said a fool…

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It was the night my totem appeared in a dream A she-wolf, una loba, who stood outside the door I was inside with my ex, and I could hear the rasp of her voice The agony, echoing in the dark and the howls of lament and rabia,  The cadence of her heart, in sync with…

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the agony of my clear, crystalline heart which i daub with the echoing tears of our release i stumbled away from our destiny the design of my soul plundered by your behest a revelation i reached far too late the interminable timing of your laugh, once a thing of grace, now a rasp as the…

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Life is hard by design.  Thrown together like a daub painting, life is short of grace. The innocent are plundered of all the means they had to reach their destiny. Left with no chance, it’s clear the only solution is to venture further into the depths of the unknown.  I am a fool. I was…

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As I scanned my options to prevail,  A crystalline memory did ascend. Agony, with a clear lugubrious cadence,  Raked like a rasp across my soul. Echoing from a portend Of a destiny not fulfilled, A call to grace does bubble up, That I, a fool, do daub and filter. I will not let it thrive…

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agony of the echoing fool, fulfilled only by the revelation of plundered grace. with such crystalline cadence, you design my destiny. you can’t stand on stumbled feet, yet you somehow thrive within the timing of my trying to find totem within your last behest. I spend my days hoping to defy you. without your filter,…

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