Who Crafts the Curve of The Wood-Line

In Ohio, we walk along the serpent mound
to remember what it’s like to feel mysterious,

all night we hear superstitious mountains
whispering hymns along the tree-line:

she’s pulling optic nerves from his forehead
shoving pink into her own mouth, sixth sight

tastier than broccoli on porcelain…
what makes the wires in roots cross just so?

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