hendelar

sometimes you just gotta' row

questions slip

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Everything

the furrow spoke reflected
contemplation, it’s
owned

“how old are you?”
“usually not old. occasionally weary. often enamored. always curious.”

handily, firmly guided
understanding, knewly
morphed

upon blissful ignorance a sea
joyfully ridden, the wave,
uncertainty

democratically, oligarchy, nuanced malarkey
history alone, the genre of
fiction

consequential revolution,
yet one more tablet, ignoted
hope

be human blood karmic, that sun
ne’er to warm one, so many
empires

land of free, lives on backs chattelled
chained, taken, on streets, their
own

borrowed, the pole
flagging madness,
chosen

child rattles, eyes its soul
bewildered, death-breath, for
safety

“you’re asking how many years i’ve been alive?
icy, a life measured, such.”

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