we have
hidden away in a
dusty compactus
the long path
to the unoiled gate
of heaven
pointless
to breathe in a time
of austerity
or to search
the cliff-beset
straight and narrow path
a time indeed
of great crime
behind every great fortune
and snow
snow on the soul of
the masses wandering in the wilderness
then an apprentice
barely seventeen and
still a virgin, finds
the blue
flower in brittle
herbarium paper, dry, and musty, and reddening
I really like the way you come up with unpredictable connections and avoid cliché! Lovely stuff.
ReplyDeletethanks Anna.:)
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