Tethering Frabjous


It’s seven-
-Syllables too quiet
And I twitch–

From teachers on my hand
Open– close-
Open– close

Canyons of flesh
Etch pain for remembrance
To the familiarity,

Of skin that dances
To sun-kissed residues.

Sleeping Shroudily
With meadow-blossom
Tethered by the wind.

But frabjous day
Is counted, in minutes and
seconds.

Made of earthquakes
Catching clouds.

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