the world is orange
and i mean orange
like a sepia photo in which your grandparents
stand stiff & silent,
unsmiling, their clothes starched
for the occasion,
the sky old fashioned orange fading into pink.
the world is orange
and i mean orange
like a sepia photo in which your grandparents
stand stiff & silent,
unsmiling, their clothes starched
for the occasion,
the sky old fashioned orange fading into pink.
there weren’t enough chairs in the growing room,
open as always to the prophets
& the wind. and so as people poured and poured
it is terrifying to read two hundred and fifty-year-old writing condemning the king's actions and realize the president (king) of your country is guilty of all of these
Every spring, we throw ourselves
unceremoniously into the birthing world, abandon
all remnants of the cold dark snow. We are sun-drunk
and terribly deprived.
We give little shrieks of joy
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