Turning the stars with spatula arms
skies spill stars and mosquitoes
thunder like sprays of flowers
like dead deer, typewriters
hinting like a children's book
foretelling surprises, defeats.
Darkness is the little treat
lying in the womb
I wonder what it means
to share: I'm here
Yet know it means
something to you
in the slow interior
of your mood
skies spill stars and mosquitoes
thunder like sprays of flowers
like dead deer, typewriters
hinting like a children's book
foretelling surprises, defeats.
Darkness is the little treat
lying in the womb
I wonder what it means
to share: I'm here
Yet know it means
something to you
in the slow interior
of your mood
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