there is
a green heaven
at the fringe
of
hell’s flames
this is how it hangs
black stockings
like snowflakes
blowing out birthday cakes
or just holding their breath
under water
under the dark spoon
of love
it’s not what you think
it’s just what is
that itches you
lashes out at death
at the last
minute
which in case you were wondering
is just a cave-in if birth
rolling over
in laughter

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