Tuesday

before the sun after the dawn 


Things are afraid of us, 
the seas we swim in, 
the world we sleep with.
The sky makes a bed, 
the sidewalk cracks let the light in
Men of the city march, 
the child in the church is 
parched and the needle is his arm is black
Follow the moon to find your 
way home with the sun 
on your right shoulder.

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