Sunday, 29 September 2024

no one knows

where do all the fragments of moods go?
last week i blamed the moon
the week before that my shedding womb
this week the warm berg winds unexpectedly melting
our hibernating hearts
the blood and bones collide
no one knows which direction to go
out of joint
the widening gyre 
the people can not hear the poets
the poets do not hear themselves
the sky crumbles
the anchor dissolves
the heart sinks

still 
the soul 
keeps 
rising

may 2024

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