who am i to
imagine
that nature
can be molded
through
ideation or
fingertip
man’s hands are all over me
woman that i am
enraged by time ‘sins
‘itive follicles
piled waist high
thin
brushes with life
watered into
curled positions
who am i to
give up
my time to
the artifice of
perfection, that
beauty should
be sought as if
gold
only to feed the
ugly jester
once sage
now archetype
i am a boulder
to every city and
to every slant
an empty-minded
challenge and full-
bodied flavor
emptied of the
bittering

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