As I’ve Forgotten Between the Wind.

As I’ve forgotten between the winds,
Of some strange strangers walking,
And the stalk of dreams had balm the reaches
Of the settled flames in the wind,
With the acknowledgement, rather bothered,
Of the wasted, like bones dug out of the dirt,
Like soil with collective stems of a crooked rock
That brushed your fingers, all dampened,
That a mother would tell you to wash up,
Hurry on; but as I’ve remembered,
An olden, washed face, only ashen in lengths,
As I’ve forgotten time in between tonight,
And the best the day had hummed
The song of the copious endorphin springs,
(That bent the grass and made it brittle, like my hands)
But within the nature, that dried prune;
Such plagues deep within the furrow,
Soon sprouting, crinkling,
Ah! But, time is never near, but there,
And never could I change that.
Beyond the Red Sea, or even the Dead Sea,
I’ve felt those pangs deepen further,
Oh, I had been solemn, but those pangs in the chest,
Were only those that wept, thatched by the wind’s
Picturesque, the auspice, but among that collecting the ruins
Of a dry, dry evening, five or six at night; I walk and see an old house
That I’ve never remembered, but I know I haven’t dreamt,
As those pangs deepen further, I’ve never saw that old heart
For all what it was worth, but know I’ve lost that feeling;
Yes, but then it was that, a dream, never real, as a spectral face
Empty, and bygone, rosed by death’s grace then dull.
Coal turn as embers, as a fowl hatched,
And into your dried garden, that rendered coat,
And as I’ve begun, perhaps I’ll never talk again,
And as I’ve begun, perhaps I’ll never, I’ll never,
But I will, and always at some eternal rain,
Dripping off your whorls and brow,
Dripping off my shoes and sleeves,
I’ll awake, yet I’ll never see it again
A dream that a fog could send in all its mist,
Or even another in Thrace, that Boreas,
But don’t hesitate to remember the wind
Unless a step beneath the nothingness of grass,
Wind too that developed the rines.

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