hexapotyA Poem by h d e rushinAnonymity means that what (things) distinguishes me from you is salt water cornbread, roots and light. Or cardboard cutouts for second base, broken hair follicles and hearts that break like the medicine bottles of the alchemist. And since death will wipe out our consciousness forever/ I mean flowers will continue to grow. The long grass blades of summer will still be succulent and the bare lips of sheep will graze then s**t on the lilacs. Because silence will detach us from our brains. "How dreary to be a known entity. How public like a frog" Dickinson wrote. I am complacent living in this old house the one with the puzzling drawers that will not close themselves. Addressing poems to the unknown like the "wisdom" ghats that haunt a bowl of banana's and are dazzled by the ample geography of what scent itself when un-flung, is longed for. To ripen is to go forward'. To enter the landscapes of the painting from the interchangeable bottom. They've whispered to themselves. They've entered the barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. Even as we've thrust the dead looms of the nightingale's to the November winds of mortality. So, let me tell you about the person I met in Kroger's last night. 10 minutes later: Never mind.
© 2019 h d e rushinReviews
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Added on November 5, 2019Last Updated on November 5, 2019 Author
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