every breath
is so much wind-rinsed dust
every breath
begins a thought unsaid
till sweetness
turns speech in two-three tongues
till dreams
drop like calm climbing touch
on legs
galloping deep in the night
to legs
that blossom asleep in bed
_
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from eremition
I lie here I don't count the days anymore than I count trees they're here and although real also possess speechlessness as if a ca...
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Friends and old neighbors shutting it down in honor of John Crawford. _
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