Dementia across-lawn strides
wither the spurge
sunspot.
The maid’s Tennessee hands
bridge the thistle,
her spine of damp & rest,
dreaming of an electric scale.
Pastures & pastures
of cow milk
silo
painted, blurring it all impartial.
Hey Kevin, I’m delighted to hear that. You absolutely should — make sure to check out the Substack too! https://lanceschaubert.substack.com/



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