Maybe the air is vertebra
only you walk home
bending the muscle
of time,
a drunk man leaves
on the pub’s counter
the fire of thought
nothing changes
we can amass anguish
into a dragon
and see it writhe in
its halo
find a way knower
comb a molecule at a time
to be handsome
for destiny
that now dissolves in your honey-
dripping cupped hands
perhaps we hang immense
with city at our roots
what matters to be
draped in cloud
when age has a swollen
idea buried like a spine on
the morning soft
earth
step on pure grass
who leaves this animal
to sow in structure
the dream the
struggle
the science
of being such
near everything.
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