Gypsy trash
I’m one of the ones They came in from the road This fire burns on invisible ink A slow quiet panic translates as blinking lights . . Words that no longer mean— words used the way they don’t seem— Who lost their face in the dark casting shadows lit up by the fire burns on invisible ink— Who went out of the way to let go even though there was no undoing our inheritance— A steady drumbeat swings—…
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