gutwrench symmetries

rake the unformed heart haze

peeling back

our artificially wrought layers

like an overbaked potato

until all kinds of reality

lay bare

only in the world below slumber

can the earth’s memories

and the mistakes of man

be recognized, free at last to

smash + sidle along into

lightning rod hopes,

pure primal urges,

thrice-buried emotions

framing blame blooded columns of

the back corner crevices of creation,

until what emerges

are blank blurred truths

couched in fragments of francy–

so easily dismiss upon waking

yet they still leave lingering

crumbs of in-between

whisper planted in your soul

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