quarantine
Where did that truth go?
Off maps,
cut at edges
The carpet, too, is shaking
It also has blood,
is closing on ground
Lines to read
a picture of death
and wood bones crack
All I have, my feet
and thin palms
as morning stamps my back
Lost map,
lost stars,
soul’s spine
Off maps,
cut at edges
The carpet, too, is shaking
It also has blood,
is closing on ground
Lines to read
a picture of death
and wood bones crack
All I have, my feet
and thin palms
as morning stamps my back
Lost map,
lost stars,
soul’s spine
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