Bones burgeon from

Flesh thin as gold leaf.

Rivers of paper tears emerge

Unchecked and indeterminable,

Yes even masks have teeth

Sorrows that reveal and collapse.

Shall I fill my days with longing

A radiant sun in a sheep’s vest?

Shallow mirrors track beneath

My sodden shoes, a reel

Cut in rainbows of gasoline.

I retreat slowly, then double back.



6 thoughts on “Wordle #210

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