Wild Poppy - Poem by Brian Mayo
A man with a gun whispers
in a field of wildflower and tall grass.
like skipping stones by moonlight.
I hear the last grain
and hit bedrock.
Look for me after the rain
where the dirt road ends
and the trickle becomes a torrent.
Look for the wild poppy pushing through my ribs.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
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I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You