The Crystallizing Of Gondwanaland

This whole 'snarb' thing is her nightmares, nor no
Anything one witch you folks have accepted, you
Are really sure you are never going to leave soon,
Or come up with newer stuff, I should yearn to be.

Shut up; the words from elsewhere, that I can't be.
Such a group aspersion is never allowed to thee, or
You know, I don't get what is happening to 'my' me.
It's only getting older, while a world claims to "die."


Pacific Northwest restaurants, side alleys, upper hill.
By the time this is read, all is leveled and near dead.
No, actually the trees help keep it 'some down' alive.
None are perfect, and all are affected by the weather.

As 'workers' can congregate, to await our zone sigh,
A place that is several limbs, no one you to "knew";
Full trencher, I must believe in what we cannot buy,
My inner self whatsoever does it later: foreign 'hurt.'

By: Karen Cole Peralta

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