Grass

Poem By Damian Mac

did you know, you just sap it
outta me?
my only art is bad titles for
books ill never write
my only art is involved in pre-made
arguments before we talk
to be real no take but feel
again a lump in my throat,
to wake up in the joys of spring,
to find again my art and philosophy which
i fear lost

will you come back to me?
my childhood loves and likes?
to stay up all night and enjoy my
own urbane company of a
too bright morning where the grass with ears
upon it tells me it breathes as dappled light,
and fire dew breathes
with our breathes

will i find you again,
will you save this?

Damian Mac

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