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Oct 2014
till my aching flesh
break my hardened bones
plough my thirsting roots
prune my reaching arms
‘til all that once
I called my self
falls to the ground, gathered in a heap
—to fuel some future fire;
withers away, composting into the earth
—released to fertilize;
dries up, evaporating into clouds
—set free to fly;
leaks out, running off into ground waters
—flowing to the ocean;
rearrange me ‘til the changes
smudge the image,
blur the reflection,
futilize differentiation
between past and present,
here and there,
this and that,
life and death.
Christian Reid
Written by
Christian Reid
522
   Rose
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