The Geode
Under armadillo armorrough torn patchesiron tough. Beneath taut scarsabraded tissue tornto compost fodder. Down, down into dark –cry to sleep, count sheep,dashed dreams and nightmares: childhood locked away in congealed memories which longfor light, fresh aira taste of freedom from their rancid selves. Chip away concretionary surfaces.Run barefoot through the violet crystalcenter of my heart.
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