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Spaghetti knots

Hamilton, Ontario, Me

The land:

a dalmatian of summer and shade

soaked with green and imprints

where giants used to step

to carve out the land:

bikers moan up the dried sea

that’s turned to asphalt

and neatly divided white lines

with cars renewing the ancient roars

that echo across the land:

industry worn and inefficient

punches of yesterday that bruise

slabs of geography made and destroyed

for something to steal

from the land:

untimely and unfortunate undoing

of people who sit at bars

watching for fortune

to come with time or another drink

but they can only see the land:

wonder when we’ll kiss again

for I have shown her around the

waterfalls, beaches, factories and homes,

all that belongs to the land

like I do

*

The heaviest cloud

is always the darkest

and sometimes it doesn’t bleed

but just sits there

waiting to flood this city

massive

whole

hungry for more

until you reach out to touch it

and it touches you

to bring you deeper

into the lightness of fluff

till you suffocate

or fall

or become a shape

you can no longer recognize

a shape that needs others

to have any meaning at all

a shape that floats in the desert

alone and tortured and

untouched

About kacperniburski

I am searching for something in between the letters. Follow my wordpress or my IG (@_kenkan)

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