sour stand of green apple trees

 

imagined beasts turned into fabric puppets

 

through a window

i see a man running down a high freestanding

staircase on stilts

 

in the midday sun

 

as he approaches i think of tepid water

 

stagnant dreams that get dropped on the pillow

that ooze out of the dreamer’s ear like an infection

 

the moth flies in torturous circles

around the cage in my chest

 

green the color of life

 

standards bend and break

we can’t impose universality

though we are the universe

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