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Living in the forest of men
The trees don't provide much cover for
Aerial attack drones, abuse, misogyny, hate, ****, modern slavery and war of course
war and all that entails

The thicket is thick with thick men all going about their business
Cutting down this and that, making it tidy with machines and consuming everything that is consumable

Tribes meet in artificial boundaries called borders
Sometimes they talk about common gods they worship
If not they sometimes they bludgeon each other to death

They call it "Ethic clearing'
Getting rid of the tribes that cause trouble
For the greater good

Occasionally females of the species quietly come in
They talk and agree direction for what needs to be done

The forest of men don't listen to them of course..yet
But what they do restores some form of order to the chaos
Inspired by the chant 'Women of the world take over because if you don't the world will come to an end'
On the beach I think

about our days here, and you --


blow away again.
Collection "Moons"
Beloved,
I’d still know the
Taste of your
Kisses
In any
Sea…
I know you’re thinking of me
Because all of your songs came on
The playlist
Randomly
All in a row
.
I think of you too
Constantly
Hoping my songs
Are playing in the order
That we loved each other…
A crushed moth in my mother’s throat is dreaming of a red lightbulb. The silence of our hair is too much. I say to brother break the same finger seven times you’ll hear a churchbell. Eyesight changes what seeing owns.
Time thought there’d be fewer of us
Feel a sense of dread
While walking to the mirror
Maybe I'll sneak up.
I don’t recognise real love,
And my father can’t see purple.
I say yes to pain and sickness,
And him? Well he just crumbles.
I am born of years of hurt,
And he is colourblind.
I am scribbled on a page but
Him? He is straight lines.
Now I’m not sure I’d accept it,
And he wouldn’t know it either way.
So I suppose the issue is that
Love is purple you could say.
God bless the poets!
The pollinators they are!
The architects of the soul's garden,
The rain-bringer of sleeping seeds,
The ones who witness and testify
The pain of growth,
Applaud the blooming,
And invite the bees.
The Devil
Doesn’t tear you down
He builds you up
Until

You believe you can
Do it alone
Then he smiles
As you fall

And you always fall
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