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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