Ever rehearsing astronauts, we purify and return our urine to the circling body and burn our feces for fuel to reach the moon through the sky behind the navel. Six, master of red blood stains. Our blood is brown, our collars white. Other lies in 64 rumoured art stingle pins and needles at amputees, fingertips and phantom muscle. Seven, Lord of the twelve right hands, why are we your mirror men with the two left hands capable only of casting reflections?
Todd Heimbecker
@noarms · 0:15
Thanks. Thanks for sharing that great poem. I love listening to poems. That was great. Hope to hear it more. Hope to hear many more. Thanks for sharing your poems. I love hearing the poems. Bye now. Take care. Have a great day. Bye