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May 2018
all my goodness has flown—
from the wildflower’s wrath to
my fingers

pressing invisible buttons on
grassy dew.
I

should know this season by now—
dry of meaning and bent metal
into the frozen river.

the note I wrote you was short—
spoke of moons we cannot see
and my rushing ego
drowning mountains
on tiny blue-green surface—
a million

bleached bones
are wrapped in their tired stripes—
now crushed,
miniature,
and multiplied—
many of the many

and the red feathers that float

away.
King Panda
Written by
King Panda  27/Denver, CO
(27/Denver, CO)   
  443
       Bohemian, Lora Lee, ---, Fawn, Sukanya Sinha Roy and 3 others
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