Two Hundred and Thirty.


Izzy circle


One single pine, a lone pine, a pine standing by itself in a clearing, falls over and screams because it stubbed a root, crashes to the ground and lies there withering, looking at the broiling skies. The squirrels heard it and shuddered. The other pines heard it and tried to look away. Out of earshot, a hiker stops to rest a while, clutching her wrenching chest and wondering why it suddenly seems so much harder to breathe.


Sarah circle


Death is shadowing me today
hanging on a rope bridge
busting out the big brass
tossing the clouds about like footballs
pressing his arm to my arm silky black smoky
laughing at the peat bog people gone leather-faced old football
skipping up my heart beat all trippy toed falling
hounding my side like a man made of cat



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