Penelope van Maasdyk

Peddling Severed Parts

Looking takes everything
Fits their souls
Sometimes
A baby sniffing soft arms
The pebble rolled of sand
The eternal
Small grains assemble
Eye out cliff’s fissure
Little suns
Can’t breathe
When the moment spits them to you
Little sun
Leave behind hucksters selling god
But at last yourself be.

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