there

There are burning maps of a tasteless forest
With paths lost in the bellies of spiders
We step on pictures of humans made by birds
And rotten fingers pointing at the clear sky
When kettle and shampoo trees grow quiet

Children beget stolen words
Vomit stolen magic

 

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8 thoughts on “there

  1. THE LUXURY OF THOUGHTS ABOUT GRAVITY
    maximum opportunity for having real-world experiences
    poets literally become explorers
    lovers fall by the wayside
    watered down romance
    dissipated sexual energy
    throw away those self-help books
    Good Lord, bring out the frisky
    and permit it to do its thing

    Like

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