the hills we buried
lets sport a spread eagle steam shovel
and call it lost innocence. tim eto run fro m
the hills we buried ourselves under
ye.s i’d rather let my toes wiggle
and poke out dark covers stop period/.
this isn’t another blankety blank blank(et)
ive (un)made my bed of breath-taking;
and misforgo tt en Me rr iment.Kan’t the
spellbound spent desire set our letdown grief afire?
or, who’s the name-calling naturalist this time around?
whitewash all things
with a splintered rhyme scheme
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