Tell me the mysteries
of the man Who Buried Himself,
which I love
the smell of the most books
in the rain
All I have had
about discovering selfworth
in the rain

As humans, we were mourning
the Christmas tree,
left on for days

Starting tomorrow,
I’m now

I could be great, be whole; exclude and
feast upon a bright twilight sky at 2:34
in terms of yesterday
just a mixup with the summer,
so come prepared to share
a poem
I didn’t tell
what’s sea or sky.

If there is a few hours
, I think I’ve found poem.