*6:30 pm Maryward Flashback
When a
thrush sings half [hea/rt]edly
their
song, scaffold between their smile
like a
burning fingernail
lodged in salvation
Their
sense of pride cemented
across
their face-
claiming
whatever
land-
they- land- on
frost/pine/wayward species
so that
we feel numb as a savior
caught in the headlights
or
sometimes, a backbone intentsion
composed
less firm than
history
MESSIAN MASS
a f l
a k e in a chapel
*
dust/scatter/overwrite/
grow merry with time
and bliss the tainted flower
how many matches would
you like to buy
before prayers
no longer fall true [?]
like 9 lives in an octave (12345678).
They say
my hands can’t r e a c h
single files
of a permafrost memory
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