Single Life 


Socks strewn; wool death, dead cotton bodies
across this house, domestic battlefield. Clothing like

limp, shed skin hanging over
former trees, now furniture.

This chaos holds beauty,
life--lava as blood in the veins.

Torrid life.
I bow to it, in the midst of this
jumbled, slightly sloppy peace.


© Lamont Palmer
 
 

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