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Feb 8
They have taken the door, the bed and the light-bulbs
Free-thinkers without a cause, the rusty pipes, the pile of coins
Up and down the stairs, I'm counting what's left.
You're right at the core of everything that burst; we still have
The present tense

Daydreaming, True love waits.
In a cup, held with both hands,
in the forest, wooden liquid
confused about its purpose in your guidance.
We're out of tea and a real place to sit
There's blood in the sink, green
paint everywhere, it's in the air
It's maddening, don't breathe.

There's time in the organs of a house
the stairs, the blame,
the fear of settling down.
The life-support of a city
seeping into a room too empty
to be so full of us and of stains to clean.
They've taken away the ghost;
unburdened, we drink.

Terrible births have been poured;
kind hands take away the empty bowl.
Yellow Boots
Written by
Yellow Boots  Mazunte, Mexico
(Mazunte, Mexico)   
   BR Dragos
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