Sunday, January 14, 2018

my harp

who pushes the while
he her dry has left her native sea to the fish
passing hers, she cared
brought out the sinews of craft, weaving
his form from your herd foam I’ll

because it is
the two stole snowy bared every limb
presaged her lowing
of up a woman with thirsty dew trickle
saw the strange of the heavenly lash

the bull curved his
played a trick
my harp must put to traipse
without shepherd of the pattern
in the morning drawn
along and over the rock
name shorn wildly
before shattering into bloom

each terror

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Irrony Observes The Earthing.