By Sabine Scho

someone wants me
to say grass and spread out
a blanket, good grass, the pure
opulence of ruminants
it’s nothing, i willingly let
it be known, nothing more than
wind in the willows, could pass
for mars, a blue man from the
fast cleaners, preferably
photosynthesis, stromatolite
fields, temperature drops in des-
olate bloom, view from here creviced
free laser engraving, nothing and not
a drop of rain

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