of metaphors and the greatest
of these is the I
but what if I told you my plants
are my sheep and I tend them
I stroke their long necks and
poke a little below the belt
where their pale thoughts are stored
curled in a fetal swarm
of ramifying gestures
I water them with someone’s tears
and plead with them to bloom
no I really do
and they plead back at me
in my own living room
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