Stamps

Sun, 07/09/2017 - 16:09 -- IJG

Lazy tributaries choke

on destined pastel fire

 

the pumps are manifested, priming,

the wheels churn, the veins

are torn open, cast into the

sink of Heaven

at the factory. I am

become Death, my heartbeat

paves forests

I kiss my sky

These steps are stamps,

 

Weedless earth resurrected.

This poem is about: 
My country

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