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Tuesday, March 5, 2019


My face is exposed
My true face cut in marble
Hammer and chisel

My spirit is loose
Cut to pieces by the wind
I am shivering

The sacred descends
Free from linearity
And the hand of time

In this still moment
I watch the maelstrom approach
Green with jealousy

Thunder and lightning
Children wander without aim
Like small hungry ghosts

Dreams drawn taught, and notched
Strings of tension holding them
Like poisoned arrows

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