HER DREAMS FLOW THROUGH THE BONES IN HER HAND

My dreams flow through the bones in my hand
Into an empty stark garbage dump
But when they lost the feeling at their tips
None of it mattered
Concern fell from the fourth story with the crumpled stark garbage dump
It became a dove and perched itself at the foot of the young
Scooping the bird with her face widened
And she peered within, lifting its wings from its sides:
Inspiration
Poetic blood pours from the open vein
Her dreams flow through the bones in her hand

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