Thursday, April 9, 2015

Ming






















soaring on the jet stream of a million heirs,
you pluck your quiver from our feather'd hearts, 
invisible impact retrieved and irretrievable,
leaving us gaping, whole.

you buried your bright baubles in our brambles,
raven in a bamboo grove,
sucking out all the marrow.
we won’t backslide
I can say everything better now that you’re dead


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