Dirt And Playdough

Poem By Jesse Russell

in the dim light legs crossed reading
the dim but proud? has yet to shine
will? ever

you answer that question you
take it to the waterhole covered in rust and vegetation
crucified saints rallied up facing the fleshy runway.
all we have here are our faucets and our fathers
to quench parched dreams of figures though-
in palms that will probably
never share the blood burn and splinters

taking that log out of your eye has never-
been easy for you bandwagon-america
never ever
this is a love letter-

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Air nipping my neck every so often


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if you want to see
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