(a work in progress)
Under earth or on it
stone, deep in thought
turns over memories
there were eclipses
spores of blood and yeast
the smell of ice
wind and prayers
for cheerless ransoms paid to progress
A Polaroid close-up of millennia and a butterfly’s mouth
caught in a safety net of zeros
above the republic of greed
where everyone is wanting
but time scents victory
with patience a lost heirloom
and mechanical failure
will make orphans of us all
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