between the dimensions of
a curved sloped sleep

the owl casts the dark hook of his gaze down the dark evening &; so heaves the throat of my woods –

silent as
the ancients; resting on the branch
of hazel,

a cocoon of dreams
hoisting itself to the ether …
full of the worm’s mind–;

all is released to the light of winter,
as often as the human bones

hold fire
meaning seeps through the cracks of
eons that is unwillingly

held by everyone
a halo of dark matter iron and silicon
luminescent creatures sink vermilion
in the seasand,

swallowing the light of
butchering sun brought to us from the

pleiades of light
a thrush, a thistle,

like magic merging
she has spilled over
every part of my life

it is unbearable -smakka–bagms


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