sunlight illumes the bitter sting

housed in my own flesh,

invasive seven minute itch

i turn inward,

when the wind harvests dust.


i will hone the arrows,

and dive into the churning pool

between belly and heart

riding stumbling-crested waves

that cast shadows on insight.



lets these brief seasons pass.

poison spores 

strewn on the dry winds,

meet sacred breath,

finding no fertile ground

in me.


© M.G. Iannucci 2017

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