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And The Rain Was Salty Here.


She asked the man
In the double-pane window
Why he never moved?
She answered for him,
“I am my own home
And the roof was never built,
The rain, the birds, the music
For the chaos is not loud yet,
Without a floor the earth is there
A sandy swamp of rhythm and wet,
And that is not sensation still
Only me and my family here,
I think in noise and dirt
But if I move my home,
I lose them all in me that’s left
And that it’s me I am to keep
That I am holding all of us
Before we are to sleep.”

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Categories: Art, illustration, Poetry, Science Fiction, WritingTags: , , , , , , ,

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