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Q Feb 25
A man in the sky
Pours a copper pan        
Filled with constellations          
Out of the sky                                  
And onto the sand                      
Where the night blends with the rotten     hew of dusk
That blinds me
But after a time                            
the sun falls into line              
    And all I see              
Are the eyes in the sky
Looking down on me
Q Feb 17
I wonder if a brain is just a brain
         Or if it holds all the answers in the world
         Or at least the answers to why I am
The way I am
Q Feb 17
I wish that I could contain light in the way you catch rain inside plastic boxes

I wish that I could peel it off of the floor and keep it in a bottle

And I wish I could store it

and pour it

over my skin like oil

or reach up and steal it from the sky or even the ceiling or even from behind my computer screen

So that i could hold it in the palm of my hand and know that I’m okay

— The End —