The floor you walk on is smooth. There is no ground there. Magic begins with blood. Outside, there are trees, With concrete under their roots. But I have passed the tombs of kings, Regaled them with pacing, checked bins for food and wrappings. I have scoured the seas for miles, cloaked my face with ash. My fingertips opening, accepting my time.
The dark cylinders of half-smoked cigarettes For me, I'm your sorrow Calling in your dreams For me, I'm your… read more
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