The Insides of Flowers

Wet sand in the gravely road

feels like ghosts nipping at my heels.

I wheel around repeatedly

and find last year’s crooked pines

fucking with me –

it must mean something

like that copy of Howl I found at the old bookstore.

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Born Again Transcendentalist. Writing about life, death and everything in between. Editor of Other Doors. haroldpstinard@gmail.com

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Nicholas Petrone

Nicholas Petrone

Born Again Transcendentalist. Writing about life, death and everything in between. Editor of Other Doors. haroldpstinard@gmail.com

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