New Layers

Fighting over food where
nothing grows. The grass
is short and full of snails
that bend the blades like
question marks but mirrored.
A statue of a giant bear
wrapped up in moss
and fungal patches
is the only thing that stands
tall in the clearing.
Industrial development has
always drained the magic
from the world the way cigar smoke
creeps up the surface of a painting.
I watch her try to see through it
to what was once so very clear
but out of fear she looks away
and I can’t find the words
to calm a place that’s so afraid.
It might be time for a new layer
something bright to cover
all the foggy sadness of the past.
We can put it there together
like a raw unhindered thought
you don’t expect.
The platonic perfect forms
are just a myth told by a man
that wanted everything
to make sense in the end.
The branches bend under the weight
of endless apples full of fire
and one desire to shake up
everything that’s still.

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