This is an absurd piece. Its different than my usually style because there is not really central idea. I just sat down and tried to listen to the chaos of the mind.
babies rounding mountains
climb cricket hill top
to pluck the blossoms off
a blunt in your air
bare, a billowy rowan tree
the winter white days cloud your eyes
and burrow deep in the brown fur
that rises and falls with sleep
prints show up all over your hands
follow them down to your navel
and tuck it in like a laugh
that hits you like red sirens
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