The morning demons need to spill out of their dreamtime jackets
Given words in this verse.
When the firings say in so many complex ways that you weren't there, mother, or
how can I possibly know what to do -
now we know it is the hurt not the facts
that needs to flex from that compressed absence -
and while your body practices
strange watchers will continue to people your dreams.
Don't believe the shapes they take
Believe each opportunity to breathe out.
All is not lost.
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flowworker
A fantastic new poem by Rick Holland