Four Poems
M. Lemos

OK Pal

All these poems
with people in them
they should begin
I have this friend.

No Concept

It is manly
to pan the flute:
to speak highly
of nothing.

Rural

The antennas jut
like fish-bones:
in the air the birds
far from nowhere.

Clearly

There's a branch of reason
where crows come to mind.
It breaks your dear heart
to peg them with dice.

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