Makeshift Heart XV: August 2015

Winter teaches me to breathe, the moon to see:
The Madman laughs at the Angel; he knows they are not bitey or real
A bad day is just another way of saying August blossom
A man who reaches for a magpie and then does not give it food.
Accidentally spill a lyric on facebook for joy matches kind silence or a kitten
I have returned to health after tapping my foot in bed
All the while working hours that tell me how little they mean
There is a bucket in my bucket list for the idle reward of my retirement is upon me
And if I make sense it will be too soon.
(I am as literal as they come and then some.)

Winter teaches the fool who notices it.

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