[ H U M D R U M ]

Through the tall seeds of wood;
blood vision / / fog withered eyes;
my focus flags and drabs of grey
stitch a tea stained map to my hand.

Ardency quelled in my heartwork;
my brush dried with the sunburst.
the skitter-skat scratch of
my paint on the page;
a stick figure graces
the hangman;
 on vellum page.

This is my map,
my direction;
this is my wayward wind.

The End

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