with their flowering symptoms and
the ripe succulents begin to bloom
as their ancestral heritage and home
once open hills of sea breeze
now modernist visions of cement
when the crows begin to land
and scratch around on the balconies
toppling the glazed pots and tables
will I still think I’m dreaming
but I still can’t stop thinking
and rather than trying not to
maybe I just need to resurrect
my thoughts crystalize them
with forms that lift them up
from the brain-grave to walk
the world as trinities and saviors
do you know who I am
the homeless man yells in the street
I’m number one
you can’t take me down
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