pile up round the frame,
like,
kids on stairs on christmas morning
but we're mom and dad, too:
scurryin round in dead dark night
to keep the secrets safe
to keep god's will pure
when we should really merge lanes
"in the poetry of the poet and in the thinking of the thinker, there is always so much worldspace to share that each and every thing - a tree, a mountain, a house, the call of a bird - completely loses its indifference and familiarity." - martin heidegger
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