forget the fifth

forget the fifth

forget the fifth
think of the fourth
and all its greyness
all its potential of sparks
still sleeping
still dreaming
think of the sixth
all the charred sticks
from the skeletons
of exhausted cartwheels
down the streets
through the trees
all the bangs
lying in the grass
throats burst
all the ash
feathers amongst leaves
all the scorch marks
from where the summer sun
crushed it’s cigarettes
in the park
think of all the smoke
become part of the air
you now breathe

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