The hills have changed
and how
they have adopted
some of the
sameness
of the plains
like a loved poet
who has no more
metaphors or similes
to define love
or longing
only loss
the old beggar woman
speaks all mumbo-jumbo
she is the only one
who has moved beyond
the futility of
sane structured languages
Eliot, Woolf, Plath, Kerouac, Rumi
all insane
all beyond the narrow expanses
we call minds
the hills have changed
they are a graveyard
of idyllic childhoods.
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