Whoever started saying “nothing
lasts forever” never learned
the rules of revision: it doesn’t end.

There’s always room, nothing
is perfect– What word better
clarifies our truth? What glows?…

When troubles turn into ribs (twigs?),
don’t let the world make you hard…
so easy to start suffering when

everyone else has. Can’t stop
the chrysalis from binding, shell-
shocked to contras forgiving

(or forgetting) then letting
the bravest sail away, knocking
cliffs from the coast. Hunt-under-

the-moon mode, along with
the monsters built from Romantics
who fell to the limestone side–

once humming a hibiscus tune,
now humdrum succulent with
sharp mandala leaves, stuck

to a desert floor, no power
to move toward the sun like
Orchidaceae, blue cacti juice.


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