*A poem in progress
mullein may soothe
lungs dry and strained
shouting out why
shouting out no more
going home
preparing a snack
something sweet
something comfortable
feeling comfortable
how long can this last
bring to boil
rest
strain
scream
are we silencing, or,
I am no soothesayer
mullein may soothe
but only the body heals itself
their magic buried in inky black husks their furred green shells their woody bodies red, polished lacquer magenta tendril do we leave them daemon powers under the wisdom of wind to rot or sprout, in t
Terrestrial is better than global, but only because we must seek plus, not minus diversity, not monoculture. The plot thickens with vegetal lattice we thrive on these, we discard those, something eats