Ground By Doodleslice 2014-08-26 Ground-up snow packed in an old tin coffee cup Baked enamel finish Pale chipped yellow Leaching metallic poisons that cling to the roof of my mouth Tasting of hiding places and bitter regret Clods of pillow-soft centuries cry for seeds Cry for worms Cry for nitrogen But not for me Not until the scattering is complete Not until they burn this peacock from my cup I’ll bend nails in sideshows And search for suburbs Ten for a dollar Ten for a nickel Ten for a penny Ten for a match Erosion is our softest dream I was a road I cracked and crumbled I was speared by savage grasses And overrun by bracken Devoured by rest A trace And soon Not even But ground —- #poem #poetry #poet

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