Another Poem

What rough chemistry is this?
Raw like an eye suspended
in a solution of worried sleep,
and raw like the roughened tuber
moving earth with its growing
to molder in this deep, red earth.

One thing and then the other diverge
at different rates, and I will pay
interest on the difference.

In that water tower rust bloomed
and I am drinking it.
Frost bloomed inside the glass
that I put against my lips.

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