Photo by Mehdi on Unsplash weeds feedmy dreams, in acavalcade of screams,while themajesty in-between, isjust as it seems rocking back,and forthon the porch,sitting, andstaring at the dead, it dreams like another realityaltogether, asbirds fly back,and forth, mirroringmy actions,withoutthe necessary transcendence of being… felt, not felt,smotheringlike a fleece blanketon top ofthe historywe’ve shared together recalled,less enthralled,I […]

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