tanner brockwell

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by tanner brockwell
click click
rotary motion
the smell of hell
the reverberant air
tanging on the tongue
built and felled
psyche emergent
this rustle
in the prairie grass
the wind blows
constant change
cold as ice
cold heart
nickel copper base
rings you cannot wear
something says
as neighbors say
walking upon the unpaved
riding upon the wide
and open the door
there is destined to be
something you could play
the air swirls like storm
leaves [...]