Now
Earfuls of green stars
Carry me home.

Past the torsos of yellow
Yesterdays.

Now
I am the dust they will dig up.

I probe the menus
Of existential twigs.

Hello god’s knuckles.

The sun is a deaf bullet.
An arson of thighs and elbows.

A sabotage of finality
Dressed in an abacus.

Of lost anecdotes
Wrestled alive.

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