cheating on day 9’s one project plan

A window above people
on the ground did not qualify
as complete fiction, in fact this window
above the people could not get away
with the smallest fiction makeup
disguise kit no matter how loud

the barker in the ad might blare.
Neither were neighbor windows
in any way fictions and never bothered
worrying about whether
to check out those loudly advertised
fiction disguise kits. The mark

that marked this particular window
from neighbor windows was this
particular window above
the ground and the people in a busy
boulevard bus stop mingle
on that ground, happened to be cracked

– not cracked as in a cracked glass
but open just a bit,
and the window itself
was not attuned to the extent
the neighbor windows were or were
not cracked; for all this window knew

all the other windows
were as wide open as closed,
but this window was indeed slightly
cracked, the window’s cracked condition
being of significance
because the gentleman

who sipped a cup of coffee
at the kitchen table could hear
the voices from the people outside,
the people on the ground; except
by the time the words
contained in the voices

had their chance to escape and regenerate,
their meanings were hardly the easiest
to make sense of, especially since
there was another voice – a voice
from a radio – that took up much
of the kitchen’s atmosphere,

but it wasn’t really loud, not as loud
as the voices from the ground;
highly doubtful the words
contained in the voice from the radio
went much farther than the window,
if they even got that far.

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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