wrangling dust

it’s a votive for confidence;
a feather threaded through the ear,

forging for motives spooled
by powder or ashes.
but there are no ashes

for my sin never rests
in bed. my watch still
flares over chasm.

a motto in quasi is
kindling in the shadows
that are only visible
with eyes

shut.

either that,
or it’s cinder
wrangling at dust.

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About Robyn

"If you haven't known insanity, you haven't lived."
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