Monday, August 31

All Rainbows Mine

In lost pieces of checker, I danced and jumped, and every tadpole on this earth looked at me with envy and pity. Isn't that the perfect mixture? Of sentiments? The matrix was glue somewhere, paint somewhere; it tempted, it repulsed. Now in white washes of the sky falling everywhere, the blue is only left where I see, where I stretch hands, and where the mangoes dare to fall.



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