or the obliteration of 9 to 5
island of mirth
tyranny of dishes
aged wilderness
pushed back and forth
trembling in the cracks
footholds and stones
silent aircraft
cushioned by warmth
sandwiched by cold blasts
from the icy furnace
lost ways
that begin to ravel
just in time for Monday's
senseless debacle
1 comment:
awesome poem, Annie. Love the gnarly carrots too, they look alive! Amy
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