Created OOMs ?

Grass grows between my fingers, in case I want to play. Burning suns ride over my buried head, whispering into the darkness of my sleep.
The dust of treasure houses, the roots of stumps, spokes without rims, and flags without staffs.
The carcass is dragged out of the towering tomb, its mounded weight dragged into the air, into the commerce, need, hum of rolling thought, dragged by the hand of a child.

#writtenoom 2025-02-20

#dailycreatedoom