Red Pole

Dust in tall grass not able to see

This season is dry and dead and quiet it seems, like distorted echoes.


Pretty empty gift boxes

Glowing with glitter filled with crisp boring winds

Like a chalkboard eraser to my eyes, dry.


Accuracy from my feelings are at an all time low

Lies breach holes to spread and contaminate areas thought safe, but no

I seem to be living in mud

Let a Carolina rain wash silly assumptions from me.

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