If under a tree
you mistake shredded receipts
for something less magical
than apple blossoms well I have to acquiesce
(and after all you told me so)
that there is no magic in you.
Make note, O eyes, not of
the perfect skins
of blank apricots    rough
apes and aphids
but the bright heart of garbage
the luminescence of sticky rings
left by sweet cups
the constellation of cigarettes that litters the earth
abandoned and free
sleeping sweetly while you drive away
(as if it was I who were the driver
as if I even knew how to drive!)
in your frightened black cocoon
automated by machines and your own heart.

-Tay

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http://www.tayarrowsherman.com/
http://www.olio-academy.com/

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