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Even the word boulder becomes a smooth heavy object in my mouth:
A large orange-brown rock, embedded.
What does it mean to be erratically adrift, so far from home?
How does it feel to be misplaced?
It....they.....we....who are ungendered and unagenda-d
Tumbleweed, crashing though time.
There is a reason why we recognise ourselves in the stones, in the rock, in the salt from the sea in the air and in my mouth. In the difference
There is a reason we know ourselves in the complex whole.
The Seagull & The Ice-Cream
A bubble gum ice cream, a nod to nostalgia
And nothing to do with fibromyalgia
(it’s the only word I could find to rhyme)
But let’s get back to the seagull’s crime:
Taking a thing not his (in our eyes)
Creates a sort of catechize
(in the non religious sense of the word)
How 'who owns what’ can often be blurred
There’s a circle of life we can reflect on too
When your ice cream now covers my car, in poo.
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