I’ll find my own way down

With gaze of ropes
With breath of doves
In the seams
Of my blue blouse that hangs
In the balance as I go away.
Down the long road
The joke of Midas
My touch
That likes to let go.
No, I’ll carve the time
I’ll give the scars
I’ll drop and desist
I’ll live
I’ll exit
Through the night we met
And wrap myself with you
Before you bore to death.
No, I’ll grow like grass
Under rusted Tennessee black Cadillacs
With cracks and winding depths
daring your hell
To do its best while it can.
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