The poet spent a recent Christmas holed up and cackling like a hen while writing this, um, slightly bent series… 😆

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Recorded Reading (1:31): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/yv425fa5jud33hqse33sv/What-Hand-is-This.m4a?rlkey=rd6j76f8r7kzyo332diuv7ko8&dl=0

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What Hand is This?

What hand is this, upon my breast,
To’ard nether regions cree-ee-ping?
I’d just reclined for a little rest
But I wa-as-n’t really slee-ping

This, this is my hu-us-band
Here by love’s whimsical demand
His int’rest I still command
The-ee o-old appointment kee-ping

I’ve not forsa-a-ken my allure
His love is strong, his love is pure
Well — strong, at least — yes, that much is sure
Like an antelope crazily lea-ping!

When I get up off his lap
And say I’m go-ing to take a nap
He’s on his feet in a snap
The rewards of due diligence rea-ping!

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Homeless until removal of the stalker/targeter/vandal/arsonist following her allows her to approach any landlord ~ even for a private parking space ~ this poet presently lives under perpetual threat of towing with all possessions should her 23-year-old van stop running for any reason.

She is badly in need of a modest reserve with which to field any emergency which might occur.

Donors may visit http://www.UgiftABLE.com , using code #72D-31S. It does take several days for the poet to be notified of your patronage.

Thank you for reading, and may your holidays be happy ones.

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