the cliff turned into sky
and the clouds to dreams
whose silken threads touched me
and i
f
e
l
l
the cliff turned into sky
and the clouds to dreams
whose silken threads touched me
and i
f
e
l
l
& the sun through the windows & a clapping song playing
on the speakers, 45 degrees outside & almost sunny
& nothing to do, well, a lot to do, but the sun through the windows
new converse, christmas lights strung up til march, arcade pizza glistening with grease, red hair dye, burnt-off fog, rain, i think, or the dew on grass, dark lip stain, tracks in fresh snow, heavy vanilla, old lemon peel, pink ribbons forgotten o
-- free would,
& all the spiraling connotations that come
in the afterthoughts of it, the explanations,
the tin bucket full of pieces with bark still on
for no one wants something they could've had.
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