traversing a wet cold roof
Old Man’s lot in life
is an empty lot
his mind made of mucilage
in a detritus of thoughts
eligible for citizenship
in a nightmare country
lying peacefully in agony
land mounds built away
from progress of waste
The sun slides silently back
Aurally and visually stunning
Promising a mourning rise
These hills have
Gary Mitchell eyes
___
2019
Simon St. Laurent
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