18.x.21
655
2.290
suffering from luck
becoming every day more
beautiful
the world as well as we
see selves on a seesaw
make mine a garden of
heavenly bodies
say spectrum slide
both fly
make mine ecliptic
fun afflicted
deep in the disembodied
drama
what falls into a child’s
eye sticks
paint laps, watched
over, laying low
wear the laurel out
the dead and the living
each equally
scarred with just daylit
we in the tree,
wingless, adrift
a forest of my own
marks
no need to get off the
wheel
when you know that the
wheels
will come off
there’s nothing to see
here
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