under the bridges of rain

this is the plant we bought at the market that closes its eyes in the town where the sun goes down

I hold a book a thousand pages thick and by the light of a sudden hat my breath grows legs and scuttles to hide in the woods where the watches of our ancestors bear waxy fruit like the moon

the skulls of the rich are flavoured with plaster and dew and we pile them up at the crossroads where swimming trunks grow and the masonry that reflects their aching souls is a waterfall of shimmering crystal cones

wait for the pause that follows the blossoming scone

and you my friends who bury the weight of your years tearing out teeth like the earthworms that ride in balloons your greasy smiles can be found on the crest of the waves that beat on an amber shell

raise your arms in the shovel-scented air and fold the yeast that grows on the pantry floor

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