Heirloom CemeteryWill Grofic
The future ripens in the past The past rots in the future -Anna Ahkmatova What I have is a medal, a ripened plum, small enough to call my own. What my son will know: tenable but not edible. Illegible as a home. Mine is a purple veil, the present re-gifted, a mixture of blue veins and oxygen red wakes the sky and mind, awaiting the present: tenable but indelible, as illegible as blame dusts the earth. What branch lowers without fruit? The aroma is withholding. The aroma without full context.
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