BEING small is not a large master
the fuge of ugly plucks strings
and dower lips with spit sing

My desert of flat thoughts
and dry springs wept while
creating dust devils of love

Never practicing to lose father
nor mother as they died before
I could ever love them

–I smelled a red rose next to
the Middlemist Red. As my own
heart we bled. Sunrises and

–dreamed.

:: 06.08.2022 ::