--Jeff Hardin 
I can't keep track
of existence.
One day it's a cuckoo,
the next day moldy bread. 
Someone reading Dickinson
looks up,
takes a sip,
lives again in Circumference. 
Nero, I grant permission
to burn down
my neighborhood,
its yacking nightingales. 
Someone steals past
with a psalm in his heart,
its grit so certain
jackals back away.

[via verse daily

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