Repeating the story - the myriad formed soul. Kneel before / the foxglove carrying off twelve soft red deceptions / mauve bells dropped doubled down the stem trembling antennae. Look in the eyes of the branded deer that stares breathing stockstill under the dripping hawthorn. I lay down, mixing my mind with the wet hair of the mountainside, smelling the brown vagina. Moist ground, harmless, tasting the violet thistle hair sweetness. One being so balanced, so vast that its softest breath moves every floweret in the stillness on the valley floor, lifts trees on their roots / Heavens breath and my own symmetric airs [wavering towards black antlered death].
- A poem by alan g, edited by me (excessively) for no definable reason.
- A poem by alan g, edited by me (excessively) for no definable reason.