Drying is an art, like everything else.

on a sunday,

 

the wet thing

dripping
from the birthing
pool on a stick.

 
behind the crick
et club, a saturday,
chattering and chirping
the trickling hillside is an insect.

 
ratchety wheat-grass
learned(a
humidsweet smelling
language)from steam
rollering………………..
………………………….
………………………….
………………………….
………………………….
…in the womb of broken stems i learned what day is
and forgot it.

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