Month: April 2019

Puncher’s Perch

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egg

older now. gray is peaked dream in
a vanity mirror fare. a tweezer peck
fit in once reddish brown beard; of
vanity
and preservation. I am just

simple farmhand in dust
bowl. single egg resting

in rusty wire. yolk hollow in
tap. somehow

six foot hatched and resting
in tan leather chair; the one
that fits neatly under hairpin
desk, under typewriter covered in

skin cells circulated
off of shiftless
shell.