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The Man Made of Leaves

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The Tree,
I need to make this real,
overturn the nothingness in us.
We begin.


The man nobody sees,
Tan hat and a dapper coat
On a bluff,
rough grasses below him.
He doesn’t feel the coarse grain beneath him
He doesn’t feel the storm rumbling above him
He only feels the excruciating rapture of rebirth pouring into his body


Leaves pound into him,
stab him with their gray shapes.
Holes gape in his being
Yearn to fill him with the offshoots of reality.
The tree that gives him everything he is
but takes everything back.
It forms his skin,
rips blades into and out of him

And when this deed is done the Tree, creaks,
It is good, but needs more work yet.


The man,
Stands off his hands and knees,
Buttons up his coat tightly with his petiole fingers
And says, voice as cool as the sea,
We are what we are




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