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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