Jessica Baron - GRASS ROOTS
There is that thing in the sun,
boulders, one stone not left
we find at spring. Between.
We go, the work another:
the dogs, the gaps, just game.
Of kind some loaves some so,
it is not we: OUR BACKS
ARE TURNED! Only make good
across apple. No cows
here, there; his head notion.
Was I in? Out? It’s not
exactly to me he moves.
Make good again behind
his saying top by stone.
There is something. |