tight chest, juice pressed

from the fruit of my labor

and its rotting skin


do you remember

blades of grass under

small feet?

the world spinning by

on the merry-go-round?

we laughed and jumped

and felt our bones crack

for the first time.

it was never a thought

until we were motionless


the whirring world

carries on but with

less laughing and

more cracking of the whip.


nothing is broken

but something is always spinning




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