up earlier than wings
how to tell the hours
you don’t care for numbers
blue whispers
what is just
is without hope
blue whispers form
grass listens first
my cat rubs her face
on death’s craggy face
it’s papier-mache
the skull in the window
the sounds of birds
before birds appear
do you seem a transcription
to yourself?
what is just
it’s papier-mache
blue whispers over a skull
now wings arrive
without hope’s burden
blue is more itself
do the birds seem a transcription
to themselves?
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