in your first swing it hit

8 Nov

there is a chewing 

on the ends of my days

a kind of small change

that cannot be known

unless you are always looking

meticulously 

for bite marks

(as it always has been)

on the dining table are faded letters

tied up with a bow

on the front walkway are apologies

jagged little hungry things 

in the pomelo tree i will hide my shadow

there it will sleeps until summer

too high for the hunger

the writer

the ferine fox 

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