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Yoni Schulman Jul 2019
all the wind i see in colors
little black and blue butterflies convening, willow trees sprawled out above the brook casting shadows
underneath them
i undress my mind
to the rhythms of the earth
and dancing off my skin goes
all the light/the light/the light
that skips your eyes
Yoni Schulman Jul 2019
you said sunlight
wave after wave
is an endless mercy
given to us all

Greenville, 10 AM
I see water dripping off
their tiny black hands in the street
i hear their laughter echoing out
like wind chimes up the shadows of the city block
heat flows out of their purple heads
and carries up into the chlorine air
into the orchestra of traffic
through which
we vanish
like smoke
Yoni Schulman Jul 2019
daylight
opens its mouth
i stream out of you like water
Yoni Schulman Jul 2019
you?
your nothing
to me
at this moment.
i pick you
off
my sleeve.
Yoni Schulman Jul 2019
spun
tiny orchestras
the pill on your tongue
the straw that breaks your back
Yoni Schulman Jul 2019
the cut-off, the dying day
the dog in the alley that lost itself
kids these days got fire to them, got fire
wound up in their eyes sure do
`
Yoni Schulman Jul 2019
your halo eyes
-------
i am drained like
a man in the summer
---------
3rd street is an open casket
-------
oranges are
a
creature
of
the
sun
-------
indian summer in my heart
Yoni Schulman Jul 2019
to be wired by you, to be pinned
to be worn by someone, i wear you
on my smile these days

— The End —