Thu, 06/20/2019 - 15:40 -- umyeah

it sits there, bones and all, 
grounded in the monotonous plane
color unyielding
Poised to begin, possessing the knowledge of the end. 

It sits there, eyes and all, revealing nothing
Legs crossed 
as innocent as a preschooler, 
tailbone tucked with intention 
Head positioned with poise -- waiting. 
it sits there. With all its bones, and all its eyes.
It calls and I know to come.

This poem is about: 


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