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Desire

An SUV's growl pokes at embers.
The hawk's drumming height
Speaks of more than liberty.
I'll have rolls of milk hued rocks
Splashed with sugar like
Balls of puff puff
Or maybe a barge striding
Azure and cream.
I am not certain.
My gnarled peasant feet may be wiser.
But it cannot tell what it wants,
Only what it feels.
It knows
The way an onion stung eye sees.
When we press against the sun
For shelter and a refrigerator's buzz,
Strung out, wiry old men are born;
And bottomless green gashes
Sucking at life
With passion and desperation.
The mockery of wings is crushing.
But that is not the tragedy here.

                         By Tenane

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