FROM THE WASTELANDS Poem by Luís Miguel Nava
FROM THE WASTELANDS
Grass has begun sprouting between my bones.
Perhaps in the wastelands of the mind
that end up at the mouth of my senses
those who dig as if pursuing
a more authentic life will finally appear.
They'll hold time in their hands like a hoe.
Breathing chunks of my body
will gleam in their shovels.
Monday, October 30, 2017
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5/3/2024 9:13:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
