Daily Chores

With the depth of my fingers,
I trace lines of thoughts mid-air,
As my thought-police slides its tail
between the legs and escapes.
With the breadth of my fingers
I broaden the resonance of my words.
With the tip, I dig and clean.
With the strength of my fingers
I lift the empty bucket heavy with
Imagined mishappenings –
Out it goes through the window;
With the pain in my fingers,
I write happy verse of sadness.
With the force in my fingers,
I hit the dough and push through the crowd.
With my fingers, I do my daily chores,
And with its lightness, I glide.

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