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Now Spring Is Our Release

Tom Blood

I yarn unsystematized in a world I fantasize more than live
a marionette statue quiet held hand
string fuse blue wall owl factory wool

if enough is thrown at you
you’d worry less of the inconsistency of metaphor

it is only by others belief in you you will succeed
to what blue creates, flowers state
wool and glass entering feet, an emergence

there is no value in this world beside creating love
heathers come over, the world silences
we pour libraries on wounds
shrouded truths end in light

we call escapism facing
paper off a truck rumble sky thrown off
put out color as a squid in the alley
memories with so much a drop off, hard to share

unloved like dry wall shards, glass and lint
cardboard flaps sag over home
scything back the night, and elms
in a sunset eaten by crows

I put my fingers between lines of buildings like spaghetti
spring is our release of flowers, say separate ways
owl cave wool immersion
a van delivers spaghetti scripted skies

the glass entering feet I learned to disregard
it is only by others belief in you you will succeed
there is no cause in this besides creating each other

a quiet string held memory monocle
knowing faces, scything back the night
known alleys throne eyes

time seemed to emerge like a turtle
from a cavern paper crumbled sky
silencing something you feel dumb about