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J J Aug 2019
There she stands,
An angel with broken hands,
An angel with stones for wings,
She sings the sun away
And spins timorous sky ashade
Of wonder, thunder row'n’ down
Her body, she sang of me
As I died asleep

Another night, my eyes too worn to cry,
Too alone for an expression of lonliness
     To bare any meaning.

The sapphire trail
Skylark doled to drain
The riverrun grass of
       Substance built.

Lifted in hypoxic transcendence
Glistening with light, ****** gold,
Skin to lilt, and touch to felt
And dawn rotted unto morning
With one less life having made it.
For us shall gather around,
For us shall be ashade,
For us shall amend ourselves,
For us shall toughen ourselves.

O continents!
Under his dangling roots,
Shall they be ashoring others!

O humans!
Shall none do apart!
Unite! Shall us amind:
We, exist, from the first human!

How pity, we are amongst the ants!
Indeed shall one of you end another.
How pity, we are amongst the animals!
If each line doth matter,
Why then thou shalt mar it?
Replace, each for a carmine of us.
Replace, each priced for our mourns.
One wrote a grey firmament,
What a carve!

For some,
How blooming! Praise o pigeons!
None shall sail each of us!
One, doth matter.
Shall thon carve awhite o' pigeons!
What a shallness amendment for us!

Roots shall toughen,
For us shall be changed,
Roots shall be watered,
Shall us be nourished by o' wisdom.

— The End —