tangle doubt with open space
the trigger bouts of juniper
climb morning glories
with warm melting wings
keep out your turning masses
but wave in the free.
you glass up the worrying tree
and free split into thin air
the old topple back is back
and your front yard
is a freakin’ mess.
from the swanky depths
of what used to be a very feathery drown
hands reach skyward
and together manage with twisting branches
to pull off the night
going by knuckle scraping accuracy this time
like taking out the dog
you’ll see me in the alley next time
saying shit about no god.
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