LATTER DAY ACES
There arises no way to adhere.
'Kind of Blue' paces slowly on
the ear as I wonder why. The girl
with the butterfly net is standing
outside the circle. A few boys are
laughing. It all makes me want to mark
the date. The air smells of Spring, but how?
Soils so pulsed, acceded to growth, and
all the little new piercings let out odor -
earth, soil, rock, loam, together.
'That is what we get for living,' the
old man says, 'that is what we get,
but why?'
There arises no way to adhere.
'Kind of Blue' paces slowly on
the ear as I wonder why. The girl
with the butterfly net is standing
outside the circle. A few boys are
laughing. It all makes me want to mark
the date. The air smells of Spring, but how?
Soils so pulsed, acceded to growth, and
all the little new piercings let out odor -
earth, soil, rock, loam, together.
'That is what we get for living,' the
old man says, 'that is what we get,
but why?'
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