The Origami of Folding Empires

A sheet of blotter paper is a wrench
 A tree in blight is a crumbled pillar,
      Under duress.
 A heartbeat is a twitch of
      Molecules
      Breath from broken bonds

A power line was once a tree
 That now steals stature from concrete
 Arms rended, bark scorched
 To the knotted stem of Pine
 Forced to be timber and
 Hoisted again, like a wall—upright
              After bisection
      In vein reflexes
              Shell-shocked to splinters

A weary neuron is a thrown switch
 Stupor over shortening circuits
 Tripping over its tightrope

A peach pit is a messenger
 Chambered, pearly, staked
Strung of coppery wire 
Perfect circlings around
The collarbones of dreamscapes
The seed suffers an 
          An entrance wound
                                      An exit wound
Never measured cracked and closed 

Held together by folk songs and breakfast foods
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