April 4

Lay in the grass, your face up. The one, you say
no one sees. In green bars that pass slowly. Show
your face to the sun. And let the gas of life roar

around you. Settle your mass and crown
into dirt, casket reclaiming who
you once were. Parole? A last feast? Who
will hear your repass of ills?

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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