Or we get swallowed whole
- harrisonsaito6
- Sep 23, 2024
- 1 min read
30 second read of a poem.
Life’s edges blur in the haze.
I scratch my head.
Who put these fences?
When were they installed?
Why were they made?
How were they put in?
The fence was etched in faded writing.
‘Beware of the pied pipe…’
Something felt missing.
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