word sherpa waystation
assailed by snapshot infall
waxwing sift
a plethora of plantforms
the old car still carries
i ply catalysts
that lurk at arm's length
like amenable monsters
loom massacres
in any august mirror
the world no less nagged by
our own negligence
one more weaponized waystation
"having a tumble
winter grey
in the eyes of that caged bird
for a while"
--@poemexe.com
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