There’s
dissonance in joy.
For instance,
that sweet meditative boy all woven
into yoga postures on the beach,
intent on fostering
serenity
through somethingout of reach,
and that bleached blond
quick whirl
of fleet gesticulating girl
whose feet
kick-danced and twirleda touch too rashly past him.
Got him in the head.
Then there are
the joys
one knows in
bed. Perhaps we ought to have investigated
those instead.
.
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