dust to dust
in the end
we will be some
eerie winter wood.
standing limbless, alone
in crooked rows.
this insistent curse/
moths flying to the cobbed light
of our thin and papery mouths,
screeching poetry
to whoever will listen!
in the end
we will be some
eerie winter wood.
standing limbless, alone
in crooked rows.
this insistent curse/
moths flying to the cobbed light
of our thin and papery mouths,
screeching poetry
to whoever will listen!
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