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Constant companion, dear one, the last one standing upright in this field of dry rubble. |
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a ha har |
little light foretop sweetened. |
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So soft you are, so soft, and I do not chew on you like the cows do, or like they did when there |
were cows, when ungulates were plentiful on the planet. |
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No crush, no teeth, I caress you, instead |
hair touch |
velvet touch |
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hoary locks slight and concave |
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in kiddish dance, |
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Downy feathers for my tired finger pads |
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my pod |
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my air filters embrace your scent |
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bitter bellows and ballo |
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in the chalky pubescent soils |
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sterile oxygen-enriched evening ether lulls me to rest. |
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At heel now, help this land, rockstrewn, pebblestrewn |
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oh canine, dachshund purple flower bedder. |
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these lungs chew on the thought of you thinking with |
the arrivals |
of light and compass |
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unsoftened by your loneliness. sated by the pebbles who ballo you. |
these lungs belly with envy and spike |
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Tomorrow, your globular clusters of tracts will roll alongside this non-existent path |
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to look for bees, for signal species, to invite the dance |
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directional rump ballet |
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a tip tap tip tap tap dancing root teething into a clay that cleaves |
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and receives you with disinterest. |
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not for apathy but the soil is nonpartisan for family |
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the rocks and pebbles are as equal to you |
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as the downy legs of bees |
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or the alien eyes that now gaze upon your |
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pixelated feathers. even here at this distance |
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a stranger’s lungs inhale your foreign molecules |
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the air carries you in this transit |
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of oceans |
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shout in spores that it is time |
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again unroll your deep taproot |
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anchor, you and me, to make a home |
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with the rubble that braises you. |