His Habitat

A mountain of a valley
Repeated, imitated
Across the holding place
For his spirit.

What doubt lies there,
Fallen within the crevasses,
So my hands cannot
Attempt to make contact?

Cancerous streams;
Rapids carving valleys
Further from my reach.

The imitation of misperception
Breeds without sexual intercourse.
Bacteria learned
To reproduce this way.

I’ve boulders to tumble
Into the basin
Where his water
Should erode them away.

Temporary pavement
May be made there,
Should he refuse
The workings of disease.

© Shea Depmore
Steal money.. not words.


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