this breath or the next or that
night bird over a lawn without
color some itch on some list
Tell me, if I walk the bridge
and nothing escapes do I
still plant a seed in secret?
this breath or the next or that
night bird over a lawn without
color some itch on some list
Tell me, if I walk the bridge
and nothing escapes do I
still plant a seed in secret?
a seed forces itself into the archaic organ overnight
in nothing the morning still but cries for seed or sex split the dark & in pours the need coffee with heavy feet & to scrape dreams from the face that needs to face nothing
for a small something like a seed though let’s stay inside
pieces of the week still in my pocket tiny seeds of mint