Monday, May 4, 2020

poem 44

Itza Wildin took 
to invisibility
pacing dodging 
mental combines 
lumbering across 
her soulbrain 
stretched out 
a disappearing 
ravaged geography 
where winds whip 
green oats still 
heady with Spring 
blades spin roar 
devour remnants 
as if thrashed hopes
winnowed passions
never existed

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