regicide et tu the budha

Hands in the dark as big as plates they were
As big as ships sails flapping all pillow dreams
Thoughts and longer windows silent Orion’s belt
Words fly around this empty room lost butterflies
Settling like dust on a memory
Until the sky is falling and the dust is thick enough
Cushion for the other ones praying for a break
These big hands say nothing just hold a pen
In the dark fog of dusty foment

Twenty twenty was a vision of a man
went to war in an old tin can
smote the wrong and loved the right
had stealth smart bombs and everything…


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