Poem -
garden bones
The perfect dead
The perfect graves
In perfect death
•••••••••••••••••••••
The perfect lay
and churches stand
Sing their hymns
Their garden bones
Washed clean of sin
and there we walk
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Us You and me
▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎
In perfect health
We perfect see
how living is
--------------------
imperfect steps
how perfect thrives
In Lack Of Breath
M
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