Moss and Bone

My head is rolling down in a pale,
rolling down like moss, on a bone,
not rolling like a snail- they glide
on mucus.

My mind is mossy, flowing down stale
each idea, neither  there to inspire nor condone
my mind stays sill not to jar nor collide
a ruckus.

I am moss being thrown from a stone
who gathers not.

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4 thoughts on “Moss and Bone”

  1. Fuck yeah! That’s it! “I am moss being thrown from a stone.” I am in love with this! I am thrilled. 😀 Thanks for linking me to this, so I could find it so quickly.

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