discarded cotton

silk worms.

their trek censored
by the musty walls
trash chutes offered.

shedding imperfection.

pockmarks of strife
and rings that segment
as gold keeps silly girls safe.

they’d make you a carpet.

but past transgressions
have taken stage,
quaking as laughter grows drunk.

hiding from the geckos.

multiplying in cupfuls
that beckon the splash
of the koi in Mulberry pond.

cleaning one’s old airgun.

*A reading of “discarded cotton” may be found here.


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