it is all too breathful to endure
soft sleep of yours
from here
I only dream apartness
the reality infused
into a whirlwind wheeling
straight line rationally
headlong with no thought
of pockets pocketing a lumbered wilderness
mornings now birds populate
the pollen and the lariat
of beesting
many plays are written in the head
and on the skin and in the morning
we defray the cost of never having grown outside of this
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