I plunge out into an open wide depth of dry
where an ocean came and went
no heat, no cold, no feeling
stagnate
cracks and bullfrog's
no mirage tricking me thirsty
for no sun up
and no moon
it is that time of month
it is awful weather
with no atmosphere
fallen trees abroad
like homes suburban
in rows perfect inch's apart
hollow to bare a body in
where the dry creatures squat
and do their drugs
getting drunk
without a care in the world
I am an outcast
tall and monster
far away abroad my city
punched out a hole puncher
from the last poem i added
into my three ring binder
archived
what to come
or become
of this now
i'm that
an empty shell of no cardboard
lined with no canvas
this time around
crinkle me up
in two hands
put me in the trash can
the only hope out of here
because i have no ink pen
just memories
of non existent places
i once dreamt of
chasing bullfrog's
through the dry empty ocean land
childhood ongoing
ongoing forever alway's
in crack's and seam's
in old mud
of evolution
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