I’ve come at this all daughter and dear and wrong. The advice we give, how flat and flatter we could feel or thoughts that slip underneath a wisp a what. How we drink the tear ducts of playgrounds together little one on my knee. How we are wet with intention and hold pale thumbs. Think about it, this eggshell we’re giving it away so easily in the pot stir it. Think about it, the inner bones of the thing. I’ll walk with my new body then in this park, and it’s new again. Say it’s summer, and the beast of the air holds my hand. Speckle me with sweat, sweet one, slushed and following my heels. I can’t wait to tumble this year. I can’t wait to cyclone the mud on my arms play it. Inside this tire the air is filled and waiting. I’ll dream a sea a future without a continent without you. I’ll hinge knee-deep a map to the wall to where I will go and proclaim that nothing, everything, is wrong.
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