by a white man in his thirties…”
You realize it
when the belt you’ve worn for a decade breaks —
the buckle torn through the thin, separated layers…
Something about wet two-by-fours
feels like home…
“The frozen dew of February stands in the shadow of towering firs…”
I get that my dad has to do all these stupid ceremonies;
he’s the king, la-di-da…
I’ve haunted this temple
since the day you were born,
the day I died bringing you here…
“I’ve heard people say
Pelor is here—
breathing our air,
walking our pews…”
In the canvas of the overcast sky,
there are blurry molecules or curly hairs floating.
Inevitably, the universe will end; electrons will no longer spin around nuclei, and everything will stop. …
after a cold snap
their trunks twisted agony …
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