Poppies Laugh Louder In a Wet Garden
Furnances, cast-iron, will wrought a deadly terrain;
The mulling of our spirit has
Juggled words of gods out of our mouths
While we hide like moths,
Thus life begins an affair with a new universe
Where furnances are allowed
To crawl the garden grounds
as our hearts watch
Aflame with plummage.
Copyright © Matt Caliri | Year Posted 2009
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