Loose Cannons


Whose blood would I heed to transfuse,

Who but my muse?

I’m idle, as flowers fall,

This quiet day in spring, the hill is empty.

The people are any,

Thing but a moon in a ditch,

That no one sees

Unless they spin spin spin

360 degrees,

Look at you and look at me,

Laughing at the center that

Was staring at their unease

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