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March 14, 2017
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In deep autumn our souls bleed
blood-orange from the rotten
flesh of fallen leaves, illuminating
clouds that anchor the receding sky.
Space’s lunar tides change shades in
sync to the colors of our moods.
Black:  the crunch of tobacco
leaves shriveling night’s lungs.
Pink:  the scars of our mind,
fading but never faded.
Purple:  the bruises stretched
across skin like goosebumps;
rivers leaking from our hearts
into the mouths of valleys,
reflected amethyst by the
slowly melting horizon.






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