Cured Meets 10.21.24 By Kevin R. Mitchell
Lacking in purpose right from the start Grains of salt taking pressure to heart Marking a middle by eighteen percent Something demure, the way we are lit
Fuzzy logic copier’s curving decisions Chaotic function’s resolving precisions Standing pat matte within tip of the hat Timed exposures by nine lives of a cat
Running on sentences Without any pretenses Left sounding out words That haven’t been heard
Finding mores pleasure as nothing new Binding bundles for pratfalling stumbles Disarming harming managing mumbles Minding our orators working from script
Turning out to sea without any ships Churn into a being without any quips Once upon thoughts all tied in a knot Overt exposure something is fraught
Lacking in purpose right from the start Grains of salt taking pressure to heart Marking a middle by eighteen percent Something demure, the way we are lit
Running out on a sentence Without any more pretense Confirming bias squirming Crafting a wafting incense
Left sounding out words That haven’t been heard Within mores, grains of salt Each meet has been cured
Turning out to see without any ships Churns into meaning with every quip Once upon thoughts all tied in a knot Overt exposure something is fraught Gray’s plays to middle as we’re taught Paid forwards to back in every thought
