¿ Who Is This Of No Appleseeds ?

one casts no magic into the ground

one provisions no generations

one taps breasts o their milk

one sees trees

carrying their tributaries like refugees

and i, tripping gaily

turn taps at their sides

gather their blood by the pint in journeymen’s buckets

and tip them into coal cars

so one taps souls as one taps trees.

say something nice ... or not

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