Saturday, September 14, 2019

Over the ruts and runnels
globe theaters of bouncing light
I see the breath of youth come out of you
like a waterfall of leaves.

Hammocks of hanging scum
shivering slime ropes
worms tapping of the star that shuts
above our swing set.

A myriad nude suicides
wrapped up in long gone partners
plastic damp chains and the lash
a velvet siege
worshiping the cracks
in a rounded scape
deep earth with a ring of tongues.

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