Scrawl in the Herbal | James D. Autio

Tried to pack back a pasture. Lift 
the delightful nooks the heart delayed.

There is a little girl in a bottle of clouds.
There is a shiny elephant skin we wrap

ourselves in. There is a faded sponge
and a dirigible prepped for quick escape.

Had we been pierced of our inner tubes
that carry blood and our beauty squall.

I tried to apply a wedding dress to that
cloud girl. She crumpled to these casual

embrace I brought. I in turn withdraw.
For the hour ball has tempered more

than the grassy crevice glazed with dew.
My sleek foot was gentle and closed too.
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