Rust-colored mountains

That eye. Fat sky. Cloud full. And mountains too.
Bumped up rust colored rashes from once in the past
when almighty earth scratched poison ivy into its own ass.
Past time. Last time. Father son hike.
Climbed up one and never came down.
Leaves burnt brown. Turned down.
Serviced by hands that, if everything goes according to plan, will never be seen.
Minimum wage. Cinnamon rage. Stoic faced.
Lumped up clumps of similar enough faces.
Worst cases and bests and rights no one wanted
graciously regifted to the rest. Of us. Love must.
Be more. Restore. Ensure. Far more.
Than any other word before.
Eye in the sky shifting slowly right
bowing like respect over hard headed mountains.
Fat sky. Clouds full with imaginary snow.
Filled solely with invented only for fun.
God’s eye in gray clouds.
Poison ivy rash rust colored mountains.

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