My shadow said to me:
what is the matter
 
 
Isn’t the moon warm
enough for you
why do you need
the blanket of another body
 
 
Whose kiss is moss
 
 
Around the picnic tables
The bright pink hands held sandwiches
crumbled by distance. Flies crawl
over the sweet instant
 
 
You know what is in these blankets
 
 
The trees outside are bending with
children shooting guns. Leave
them alone. They are playing
games of their own.
 
 
I give water, I give clean crusts
 
 
Aren’t there enough words
flowing in your veins
to keep you going.

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roy  k  austin
circa 6 anni

excellent. roy

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