I am slow
but I reach for things
stick to them hard
I strangle them
hold them
in their death
eyes vacuous
reaching at constellations
in an abandoned sky
two kinds of flavour
for two kinds of teeth
sharp and the sweet
the bird on my back is heavy
his song impales me
with notes of an idea
while all the flowers I planted
burn away at the roots
petals of glass
thorns of reverie
defenceless I’ll
slide on
dragging myself
down this
lonely track.
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