Nettle Trail
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unseasonably hospitable
east side of easter
3 month old human
chips, trills, coos
secretive mourning dove
in a pine tree
first touch is a bite
recoil
soft young weed things
take over the sides
emit a purple glow
in the houses voices are
comment sections
on the news of grotesque crimes
resign from politics
dispute anger and emotion
but this growing thing
gets bigger
there’s no way
but up towards the fire
