fashions for forgetting  

lonely is not a state of being

but being without

planted among the crises

which continuously bloom

born out of winter

the crawling wind takes love

turns of a two-pence

and ‘hey’ he said 

walking swiftly along the equilibrium

sequin bellasandrian 

we call our mothers

mother and trail lights

red and blue and the sudden drop

and green and blue and blue

and red wither 

to      step     out

amongst the asphalt and afternoon drinkies

seized by the longing for guilt and other histories

the stinging sweetness casts into the ebb

we fall apart 

smacking our lips to the sound of snares and hi-hats 

losing the breeched vocal irregularities

it is unavoidable

it is the undeniable that makes us believe

in the turning point crackle

tear up

poor ponder

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