song's edge

the song woke up
upon the wide burn
from under a cover
of difficulty
of you with me

burning itself
day sheds
desire’s throat
pages stained with open-
ended nights

the song dreamed movement
where gravity is simple
that the end of work breathes
marking the air
of changes

difficulty blooms form
fishes, nevertheless, in light
that newspapers cloud
in any key
that one, the shutdowns

we cut to doubtful
who are we, codified
the day in our ways
the long movement
its obvious traffic

the song’s causes
the flavor and game
of that decrease
or to break itself
like paper

paragraphs burn gold
if we could
be burned, flowers
this art of layers
makes, avails

the song a refinery
lucky, fair, green
shadings awake
above, in us
parts to the edge


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