no she cant take it being alive
the child nagging at her side
the sneezes the superficial pretence
the tense pretence
rest your shoulders they look like they’re ready to launch a rocket
and I would if the bus would stop moving

above the Orion nebula gleams like a dead animal’s dead eyes
don’t make that orange the way that everyone dies
sliding like oil in a puddle
it’s too pretty I can’t take it
but she rested the book in her lap
look at me
you confound me

seats waste of amber
but above lies the river of smoky cloud
'gift of the eyes' she says and it was and I was it all was
want to take her to the woods where she is safety
and breathing the aurora.

HIS claws grip my lines
in the boxed buildings they fumble their toys
keys jingling keyboards clipping
muse only a splash of dust away
but stretched too far to touch the burning waves
the bus stops near the bar

tethered I see first everything that moves
(fingers spread and shivering in the frost)
shining like strings of glass

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