Muted thunder yawns along
four-legged cloud with tongue hung out
hills are blue and souls are glue
born with the barn door open.
Shilling out the blessings of the wind
Through the briers where the voice of god has been.
synthetic ebb and show postponed
in the loitered, bully hall of echoes
where leaders lose and losers lead
proud belly out like a tortoise shell
there’s a lighthouse at the bottom of the sea
salt and seaweed in the cemetery
no circumference, no equator
took a swig of cloudy water
felt the root of daylight gleaming in
to blind the beast and reinvent again.
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