The poetry of earth is never dead…

I mourn for the one who used to be me—

He was pacified with cold water

A dictionary

Understood

In aggregate

Like the worms

He found

Inside a thistle.

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto

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