Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Bright, Clear, Pertaining

I have a simple sphere
To sell you while I'm here.
The earth abhors the stars

And turns,
"You didn't see

That was coming from me.

I love the light on these
Trees. I love knowing

I am not me." The birds
Whistle as if the monkeys believed

The good God of birds
Spat birdseed.

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