by Ross Vassilev
29 Buddhas lined up on the mantelpiece
and that's supposed to be a metaphor of something
but I forgot what it means
after a while a kind of lethargy sets in
you stare out the window at the crooked rain
the roses are dead and the clock is broken
(metaphorically speaking)
I once walked in front of a moving car
with supreme indifference
the woman behind the wheel swerved to miss me
and I couldn't have cared less
no, this caterpillar won't be growing any wings
just blowing arsenic at the wasted stars
and waiting for whatever the fuck comes next.
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