Caroline

Backroads, backrooms,
pineapple bun on top

of my head full of a secret
we share: The Art

of Messes. It isn’t
you, rain dancer

who leads amphibians
away from cheap tanks

thrown to dirt,
some shack behind

chipping houses, instincts
drive us all the same way…

Twirls found in the far
desert tell you grit

can’t be lifted away
with a single storm.

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