By Thomas Page

Is a digging fox,
Scraping at rosewooded grave,
What separates whey
And curd, butter and cream, wheat
From casted chaff?
The endless river
Of thought flows frameless without
Regard to sequence
Is flowing language
A loose arrangement of mixed
Confusing writing?
Will this haiku mean
The same thing as when I wrote
It down in pencil?

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