no jewels in sight
the wings of broken gliders
trapped in treetops
banners fluttering with faded history
vines coiling in cave mouths
silver steps to a rancid sun
flaky layers coming off
with quick fried letters
landing on swollen floors.
Bring me a milk lit thistle
alert in a bucket
calligraphy of blood worms
sprayed on the soulful lid.
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