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Dispensary (Close Control)This is the poems dispensary. The good stewardship of poems begins on Monday with a glass of water. Out of a sky blue box every dispensed poem will have its own independent and recognisable symbols, your average virus inhibitors added to the pack when the alert is raised. There will be butterflies in the pack and the occasional blues poem as well as the box itself of blue. An apportionment of new poems is usually for a duration of three months, a month or even a single week. Corrections, extractions and additions excepted. Poem indulgences counted in days; broken down in four segments. That felicitous dispensing block. in morning seven four noon days seg evening a ments bedtime week Your one two three, one - a sad hobble. Sometimes the release of poems equals but half a poem, yet if it strikes the right chemical note may well be counted as one in a rattling good bunch of seven. It may not be necessary to dispense poems at noon or in the evening unless you are suffering pain, a delicate muse, or even a need to rest the feet of the dancing muse. When the dispensary goes from blue of day to blue of night nine completed poems are taken from the bedtime box, cupped to your mouth on the delicate dish of transfer. The stewardship of poems under close control, another day comes to an end. I am the caregiver, the one who has the onerous and humiliating responsibility of placing each dealt poem onto the shell-like plate. I count them; you count them. We are told two other counting took place before they were placed in the sealed blue box. And now in a gulp you throw your head back, swallow and they are gone, swilled down with a sip of water. So I never lose track of the blue box, the sealed blue box, the dispensary; and another dose of poems. At the end of the week the dispensary vehicle arrives; drops off a whole new dispensary box and its counted contents, and takes away the empty blue box, replaced with the other. Come Monday morning I slip back the lid and view the dispensary and the dance, the titles, manners and responsibility. Responsibility number one; love poems, two; free verse, found poems; reading and re-reading instructions. And haibun, the essential haiku slipping in with syllabic counting remaindered on the tray. Or the crafty devise of a pantoun; the stanzas so suitable because some of the lines double up. The leit-motiv of the dance, come on and do the blue beat. Come walk the two blocks to make an early pick up; sideline all woes. From the dispensary, indisputably dispensed, a nice day for walking.
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