11/28/19
Poem: The Seeds of Must
by Holly Winter
It's hard to breathe.
(That lasted longer than
a plate of gospel songs.)
I choke on the seeds of must
as lizard trails leave treasure maps
in their own time signature.
The stars reflect on the page
as the weight of the world
fills the in-between spaces.
Please push the off button.
I want off the indecision.
Must I hug myself
first or last?
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