Either by time or hand
Right there close to the base
Of the trellis or the fleshy wall
You can even push it in
With your finger or
Some other similar device
Always there is something
Pushed into something else
Both receptive and unwilling
Sheep and wolves wander up
To the empty manger
And several raggedy kings
Come later like a foul breeze
Soon the seed will enter
1 comment:
!
i feel you are being harsh.
but it is harsh.
i want to say, you are pushing on me.
but isn't a response an emblem that i have pushed on you?
and yet there have only been words, which are only memories? shadows? of ideas.
an idea, i think, can rise as a mountain and topple everything else off of the world like a pale seed might burst into red or green toppling off non-existence.
or something like this...
in other words, i refuse to stop dreaming.
i think this of you, too?
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