8.8

  
i had a dream
you were young and
you didnt much seem to mind
the bag and
when you walked
you lifted each foot and
you smiled,
you may have laughed–
i cant remember

my thoughts go to gypsy moths lately
and i want to talk
about the nests they would make
like low lying clouds draping the canopy
and how they would kill the trees
and my memories of spraying everywhere
they would pause to feed;
this morning i read a poem
and he wrote the gypsy moth
stole his small heart
and i thought:

god damn.

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