Like Dirt We Shovel
Like dirt,
we shovel every last emotion out of our eyes.
Until they are hollow.
Filling them with water.
So when you look,
you see what you want.
A reflection.
Our lips, a white-picket fence.
Structured and grounded.
Our mouth are kites,
weaving through jungles of ideas.
At day, our feet are two heavy rocks,
grinding sidewalks.
When we sleep,
Our feet find a shore.
Kicking little shells into the sea.
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