I had a hunch recently and became
aware of sleeves caught in the leifs
words like thorns torn from mothers
dictionary are rationed by others obselete
Like back light trees changing yellow bulbs
for seasonal blue isobars if there was a story
It was just a alphabetical roadsign that lead
to a chair hidden in plain sight awaiting.
As for childhood fears they appear months
outmoded Like Sand filled clog’s washed up
Amongst Sea shelled pine cones beached
Against grains Of a ocarina decomposing
Alongside spines of ancestors beta mime
The world of revolving electric atlas
glue using denialist television set.