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Out of Poverty to Something Else

Some moons are full and some are dark.

I see faces carved into the shrubbery, all that arborvitae.

I am a transplant. From a tiny little window box into a wide green field. Rootshock.

My heart did shatter. It did.

But so much has come flooding into the cracks! Lovejuice, my body.

This now, all the fir trees and airplanes. I do not own much on this earth.

Open up my jaws, wide. To swallow the ocean. One gulp. Maybe three.


“Flute or piano?”


And now I’ll eat olive bread and cheeses my childhood never could dream of. Things I did not know to like. 



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Poet and Tarot Reader, specializing in Water Cartography
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