funny
the ground is always cinnamon
maybe the reason I look down
is so that I may scrape it with my eyes
into fine powder I choose to let escape
into the dizzy south wind
who will excavate this spicy trail?
the vapor of female hands twisting in the moist turquoise
my version of territory markings
ever stop to think,
perhaps I'd rather just not look up
only to see the pain in every face
void of the fragrant, soft earth
the ground is always cinnamon
maybe the reason I look down
is so that I may scrape it with my eyes
into fine powder I choose to let escape
into the dizzy south wind
who will excavate this spicy trail?
the vapor of female hands twisting in the moist turquoise
my version of territory markings
ever stop to think,
perhaps I'd rather just not look up
only to see the pain in every face
void of the fragrant, soft earth
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