enough to be lucky

Dead speak; asking is water
a crushing spirit
after all?

Rain sings softly (insatiably)
to my eyelashes.

We didn’t know the body
was a tool;
Flute
Bassoon
Bagpipes in the rain;

I am on the verge of a broad
barren drone of cars behind
our patch of trees and vines.

Less than half of us
drive to Dairy Queen
for a treat.

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