LAURA SIMS
LET US BE
Forced to conform
Let our face
Feel the sting of a billion
Pins
As the shadows, impartial
Before we were born
Let us
Ply our convictions
Amidst the world’s loose morals.
A truck’s passing demonstrates longing.
The pure, blank thought /
The fresh soil, the wilderness
Gathered: a pile of stones
In the valley of comfort
A corridor
(Forfeited)—
None but your own