Words as Food

I dream at night that my words have wings that

pierce through the sky,

In my dream, the roof of the house is the sky and I am

trying to break free,

I claw through the fiber installation in order fly,

My words,

brief snippets of thoughts finding themselves as poems,

drop from the sky,

they are rain and nourishment,

They are food to my soul,

To my existence,

As testament to being,

They are my everything as

Rain is to life,

Soaking the parched ground and in the morning,

Bright red poppies litter the sidewalk.


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