Repetition isn’t going to save
your skin, although the statues
will keep telling you otherwise…

If it happens often enough, is it
a coincidence, or a sign from
the skies? Count five, four trees

beginning as bulbs underground,
it turns out the answer is neither.
Her eyes were blue, her eyes were

red, her eyes were two with swords.
Don’t try to take it back or reason
with yourself, give up the ghost…

Give up your ghosts, they are
the only ones truly judging you,
toe to static tips, electrics there

to fly, mingle invisibly before us.
Find your worried stones, kiss,
and throw them into quicksand soon.


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