Squashing rumours.

I tried To tell you a little bit about 

Imagery of apples above my head 

now Pouring out from brass goblets

And the story’s based On patterned backed cards.

brought in thrift store paid with coins 

the wisdom of first lost teeth

Saved in green cut glass.

From where a bench used to rest outside

Apparently torched during a Fawkes symphony’s 

Views of a marketed street where you can still find

stalls of threaded tapestries.

as a Fire walk started upon cold charcoals

Burnt umber feet now Quashing 

blue rumours on a flooded river street

a jetty weighed heavy with thimbles 

ships await to sail the worlds words based on thumbs

And with friends seen off I walk around library globe

As a matching games sparks and burning diary 

Of what became ashen swept collections.
 

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