Isn't it interesting when the glass perspires
the wires are swings for the bats
and black on dark the stingy trees call
you know it will stick,
you know it will be cold and prickly
dangling branches hiting your head
and moss tripping your feet
it's the discomfort you want by a switch in your mind
and out of the clamor
in that sweaty egg,
breaking the wet air
you think of your love,
no one knows
you betray them as a dead load
pulling you out of the joy of the forest
and into the doom of the stars
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