Left Behind

We can make paper out of cow shit,

but I’m still writing on the trees,

like I were leaving stanzas in the leaves

and trying to find roots in a system

already torn up from the Earth

like this separation anxiety

is now the only thing left to measure distance

and all those things we’ve labeled

have since been given different names.



About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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