Eating Raw Bread with a Mammoth
Brian Hardie

The kitchen floors are covered with my memories.
Like possessions I left behind for friends to endure.
Their reasons unsure to me,
Though perfect legacies for their tough
Two bedrooms.
Oh, those thoughts could burn out
The lamp on those latent, patient fiends.
Springing a concern only to compose a lie.
Animal instinct almost hid the gun.
A model’s figure saved facts,
To sprout violence on low income.
Vanilla candles won’t cure those tattoos.
Only if saving time leads inclination
To thirst for truth.
A seed, symmetrical of walls, dividing planted emotion.
Time lasts the time of losing weight.
Rib cages are puppets for my stomach’s stress intake.
Transition needed on my peeling skin.
Wasting another take as I wade my mates in.

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