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Green as a rye mold, baby

I'm an infant

crawling with unformed senses from arm to arm

ready to be mystified if I knew the meaning of the word

Feeling the curves and dimensions of the world

of its curious things with lips and fumbling fingers

Green as a rye mold

and my dreams are hallucinations brought on by its consumption

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c
Written by
charles-berlin
American
Published
May 14, 2010
Lines·Words
7·55
Permission

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